Copper Beeches
by elbafo
Summary: "You and your Thursday night nocturnal liaisons, Sherlock - just try to keep it in your pants, okay?" John has moved in with his fiancee. Mrs Hudson rents out his old room. Sherlock's curiosity gets the better of him as he becomes entangled in the life of the new lodger (OC). AU: Sherlock dates & non canon casefic. Adult themes: sex, drug use, language, violence. QUICK UPDATES!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **_The Adventure of the Copper Beeches_ is in fact a short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the original canon. Violet Hunter is Sherlock's client in that story. Apart from the character names and a brief mention of a plot element, my fic doesn't resemble ACD's at all. So if you've read it, it won't be at all spoilery for my fic. As this is an AU, some of the cases from the BBC series are mentioned briefly and some not at all. I've also used a few cases from the original short stories as well, warping them for my purposes. Your favourite characters' dialogue has been put in a blender and then spat out in some other context! Some of the other bigger characters emerge elsewhere. And Sherlock is not a virgin. Far from it. Although his attitude to sex is...different. So his motivation behind his interactions with the main OFC may seem a little OOC to some (at least initially), but do read on. Underneath it all, he's still our loveable, if slightly cold and unemotional at times, Sherlock. It's a lot of fun... Reviews contain spoilers!

And it's rated M for a reason. Lots of reasons in fact.

Oh, I should also mention that I added this note four months after the original publication date as I felt a few readers were a bit confused about some aspects. Thanks so much for reading. It's epic! Enjoy and please review!

* * *

**~ PART ONE ~**

**Chapter 1  
**  
"Can you change the station, please cabbie?"

The cab driver reluctantly obliged Sherlock's request and turning the tuner dial, replaced the news of the missing teenage girl with Bach's _Sonata No. 1 for Solo Violin_.

As the cab wove through the city streets, Sherlock gently put his arm around Violet.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, his gravelly voice serving to soothe her. Violet nodded, resting her head on Sherlock's chest, feeling the warmth of his body and enjoying his closeness.

She replied, rather groggily, "I'm fine", then added, with a hint of mischief, but still slurring slightly, "Crying over her isn't going to help her."

At this she slyly looked up at Sherlock, to measure his response on hearing his own words echoed back to him. He grinned down at her, then while still gazing at her, noticed the way she was looking at him expectantly - her face inclined towards his. His smile faded. His insides did that annoying fluttering thing. He lifted his free hand and brushed away the strand of chestnut hair from her fringe that had a habit of falling onto her cheek. He kept his hand there, caressing her face, as he slowly brought his lips to hers, kissing her softly for the second time that evening.

As they kissed, politely and slowly at first, he tried to quell the voice in his head that was telling him to stop this. He didn't want to stop, not just yet. Not when she had been invading his thoughts (not to mention the effect her presence had on his traitorous body parts) with increasing frequency over the last week.

How had this happened? Barely three weeks ago he hadn't even noticed her sitting in Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

He had been harassing Mrs Hudson about sending his packages straight up the minute they were delivered and he had been expecting one rather urgently.

"MRS HUDSON!" he had yelled that day, rapidly descending the stairs from his flat.

"MRS - HUDSON!"

Why didn't she answer, he thought as he strode angrily down the passageway to her kitchen. He knew she was there. He could hear her chatting and laughing, probably with that annoying Mrs Turner from next door. He opened the kitchen door and the laughter stopped abruptly.

"Mrs Hudson, if you could please send up my parcels as soon as they arrive!"

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson gave him a withering look. "No parcels have been delivered today, or this week. Why don't you sit down and I'll make you a nice cuppa," she suggested, soothingly. "You can say hello to our new lodger."

She indicated a young woman sitting opposite her. The woman had already turned to face Sherlock, the moment he had rudely burst into the kitchen. She sat with one hand casually resting on her tea cup. She brushed a strand of her blonde, medium-length hair off her face, her bright eyes expectantly taking in the form of this slim, harried-looking, well-dressed young man in front of them. Her pale almost alabaster complexion matched his, and a smile was forming on her lips.

"Lodger?" he queried, his voice deepening.  
"Yes, this is Violet. She's taken John's old room upstairs."

Sherlock was silent for a full three seconds, while he processed this information. That's right, he remembered: John had moved in with his ... fiancee.

He blinked, then quipped, "Good. That will keep the rat population down".

He barely looked at the young woman, and demanded, "Just see to it that my parcels are sent up straight away, will you?"

He hastily shut the door on their bemused faces. They could hear his footfalls die away down the passageway.

"Don't worry about him dear," Mrs Hudson commented feebly, "He's usually very nice."

It seemed the tea party was over.

"If there's anything else you need, just let me know", Mrs Hudson said gently.  
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I think I'll be fine for now," Violet replied, getting up. She placed her teacup in the sink and proceeded to turn the tap on.  
"Oh don't worry about that dear. I'll clean up. You get yourself settled upstairs. I expect you have a lot of unpacking to do?" Mrs Hudson asked, making her way over to the sink.  
"Yes, just a few books and things," replied Violet, moving away from the sink and wiping her hands on the back of her jeans.  
"Oh, there was one other thing, Mrs Hudson."  
"Yes, dear?"  
"Internet access. Is there a way I can connect from here? I know I said I didn't need a phone connected because I have my mobile phone, but..."  
"Oh just ask Sherlock," whispered Mrs Hudson, as if mentioning his name aloud would bring another barrage of abuse from above. "He knows about these things. He got mine set up for me but I hardly ever use it."  
"Thanks," replied Violet, "and thank you for the afternoon tea. I'll see you later then."

She shut the kitchen door on Mrs Hudson humming an unfamiliar tune while filling the sink with water. Violet thought to herself how she would approach this aloof but seemingly aggressive man upstairs. She was puzzled. Most men immediately noticed her upon entering a room. Most men wouldn't notice anybody _but_ her.

Gay, she concluded.

Halfway up the stairs she encountered Sherlock rapidly descending. He now wore a long, blue coat over his suit and carried a navy blue scarf in his gloved hand - clearly on his way out.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, not expecting to encounter another figure on the stairs. Mrs Hudson usually announced her ascent by yelling out "Sherlock!" whenever she came up. And that was mostly because she was annoyed at something he had done, or failed to do.

He moved to one side.

"Um, Sh-Sherlock?" Violet asked tentatively, that being the first time she had uttered the uncommon name. Sherlock slowed his descent, and looked at her quizzically. Who was this girl on his staircase, and why did she know his name? He scanned her form from head to toe and deduced all he could about her in a few hundredths of a second.

"Mrs Hudson said I should ask you about wifi access." Violet blurted out as she could tell there was a sense of urgency about him. He stopped.

"What?" he asked in complete confusion, his brow furrowed, "Do I know you?"

He'd already made up his mind that she was an actor slash model or a waitress, judging by her voluptuous body shape and dyed peroxide blonde hair. Nobody likes a mousy blonde. Her husky voice meant smoker, but there was no other evidence of that either on her fingertips or lips, so he dismissed that thought as quickly as it came to him. Possibly works at the cafe downstairs as he could smell the cinnamon from their tea cakes on her person and that would explain her presence here, although he hadn't ordered any food today. Then again she mentioned wifi, so that means hackers had gotten into the free wifi downstairs and he was needed to fix it. Again. She was in her early twenties, a binge drinker, probably promiscuous, preferring older men...

"Violet," she replied, pointing upwards with a faint look of incredulity on her face.  
"What's violet?" he replied impatiently. He looked up at the ceiling where she was pointing, expecting to see a purple hue splashed above.  
She returned her hand to her side.

"Me. Violet Hunter."

Sherlock slowly lowered his gaze, and met her hazel eyes with his of steel grey.

"I moved in upstairs?" she added, smiling, her twinkling eyes almost mocking him. Then she offered her hand, which Sherlock ignored.

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes, gazing at her suspiciously.  
"Ah!" he then remarked, it dawning on him that Mrs Hudson was trying to introduce them only moments ago.

"Well, you'll have to wait until I get back," he answered, then he whispering conspiratorially, "I'm off to the morgue. Fresh bodies!" He raised his voice, adding excitedly, "They won't stay that way for long!"

He leapt down the remaining steps and strode toward the stairwell door. He turned around, and took a couple of paces back toward the bottom of the stairs. He glanced up at Violet, who was left transfixed on the stairs. Entwining his scarf around his neck, he challenged, "Of course you could always connect your computer yourself. The password's upstairs, if you can find it."

He chuckled to himself, strode to the entrance and opened the door to the street. Looking back at Violet, he added, "Feel free to look around. Must dash!" he winked, and was gone.

Once the initial shock of this first close encounter with Sherlock had worn off a little, Violet was able to resume her ascent. Was he serious? The morgue? And did he really want her to poke around in his rooms, looking for a clue to his wifi password? She continued upstairs, then noticed that his door at the top of the stairs on the first floor was left slightly ajar. She stopped, debating whether to take him up on his invitation or not. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she gently pushed on the door, not sure what she was expecting to see. The door creaked a little as it slowly swung open.

This was Sherlock's living room - a very cluttered living room. Her gaze was first directed at the wall opposite the doorway where she stood. A black buffalo skull adorned the wall, sporting a pair of headphones. Below it was a very untidy table, serving as a desk of sorts. Books, papers, a lamp, tea cups and a HP notebook all jostled for space. On her right, in front of a feature wall of cream-coloured wallpaper patterned with chocolate fluer-de-lis, sprawled a grey leather couch. A violin and its bow were resting there. On the wallpaper above, a yellow spray-painted smiley face grinned down at her. There was a music stand and a floor lamp on one side of the couch and a lamp table furnished with yet another lamp on the other. In fact, there were several floor lamps of various designs throughout the room. In front of the couch stood a low coffee table. A sad collection of apples were huddled together in their chrome basket. She walked in further, wondering what would be the inspiration for Sherlock's password.

Two armchairs were sat in front of the fireplace. An odd couple. One had a steel frame with soft leather seating, which almost matched the couch along the wallpapered wall; the other a traditional armchair, with the Union Jack for a cushion.

There was an overload of stimuli here, but the password would have to be something long if he was at all security conscious, Violet thought. At her last home, the password had been provided by their ISP, and was a ridiculously long 32-character combination of random numbers and letters. Her boyfriend at the time had then changed it to "whiskey".

She wondered what Sherlock was interested in. On the mantelpiece, a human(?) skull shared a space alongside a framed assortment of mounted cockroaches and what looked like a bat. The skull at least balanced the portrait of a skull on the opposite wall. Well he likes science, she thought, eyeing a globe of the world which rested on a tower of books. And he has loads of books. There were bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, crammed with books. In fact there were books on almost every horizontal surface, as well as in boxes. Violet thought of a quote she'd read recently on someone's twitter profile - a quote by John Waters, "If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em!"

This made Sherlock seem very fuckable indeed, she laughed to herself.

She sat down in the grey, leather armchair, then she changed her mind and moved to the old-fashioned armchair and hugged the Union Jack cushion. She suddenly felt a little bit like Goldilocks. Looking around, she tried to get into Sherlock's head. What would he see when he went to think of the password? Some papers in the fireplace caught her eye. They looked like envelopes. Obviously the fire hadn't been lit since they were tossed there. On closer inspection the envelopes didn't look opened. Why on earth would he burn unopened letters, she wondered.

Violet stood up, neatly placing the cushion back on its chair and thought she should probably leave. It was impossible to get inside this mysterious man's head and she started to feel as though she was prying. Yet he, and his living quarters, seemed so intriguing that she continued on, just for the sake of being nosy. She might not get another chance.

She opened the frosted glass sliding doors which separated the living room from the next room - the kitchen. She closed them behind her. I must leave everything as I found it, she told herself. Although, why should she worry; he HAD invited her. It had almost seemed like a dare, the way he had worded it.

The kitchen had a distinct green hue about it. White cupboards and drawers with a grey and white rolled laminated bench top and open shelves above ran alongside one wall. The far wall was painted green, matching the splash back tiles which lined the underside of the shelves. There was a small window, with the blinds pulled shut on this wall.

But it was the dining table in the centre of the room which made her gasp. It was crowded with a collection of science apparatus straight out of a chemistry laboratory. Violet half expected to see the gurgling and bubbling of luminous liquids, giving off noxious gases, while a frazzle-haired mad scientist dashed about in gleeful triumph. But it was all still, quiet, and empty. And she couldn't imagine Sherlock in a white coat, with crazed hair, although she could almost imagine him eagerly dancing about a lab. Perhaps he'd made more of an impression on her on the staircase after all.

Violet continued scanning the kitchen for clues. There was a bookshelf along the left hand wall, holding a number of files and storage boxes. Along the rear wall was the fridge. Violet walked over to inspect what was on it. There were no magnets holding quirky holiday snaps, reminder notes or postcards from relatives, just menus from the local Chinese restaurants. She bent down to inspect the menus. Combination fried rice, was circled, as was chicken and mushroom stir fry. Nice. Ordinary though, and not very revealing.

Violet glanced at the short passageway beyond the kitchen. She hazarded a guess that that was where his bedroom was, and she decided she'd definitely be stepping over the line if she snooped back there.

Turning around, she walked back toward the glass doors to the living room, stopping at a small high bench on her right. A breakfast bar? she queried. As with every other table top in Sherlock's flat its surface was hidden under an array of books, bottles of chemicals, a desk lamp, small boxes and dishes. Two high-backed stools were tucked against the bench, but she couldn't imagine anyone being able to breakfast there. I wonder where he actually eats, she thought.

On the small bit of wall between the sliding doors and the secondary door to the landing was an eye chart, starting with a bold "E" and ending with a tiny "3".

"I can see that last 3 from here", Violet mused, happy that she probably had good eye-sight. She backed away from the wall, covered her right eye, and read the last line, " 3". She took her hand away from her eye and walked closer, to check. "Yes!"

She turned back to the rest of the kitchen glancing around again, and then it dawned on her. She slowly turned back to the small wall. She walked up to the eye chart and counted the letters. 32. You're kidding me! Now that just seemed too obvious. She took her iphone out from her back pocket. Whoops, it should've been in her front jeans pocket. She had accidentally sat on her last phone and cracked the screen. It was a difficult habit to remember to put it in her front pocket. Putting the phone on camera mode, she took a photo of the chart. Then, feeling quite proud of herself, she opened the kitchen door, exited through it and raced up to her room, taking the stairs two at a time.

Quite out of breath, she started up her notebook. Come on, come on, come on; she tapped the keyboard impatiently. "Hmm, found new network... Speedy's Free Wifi, no not that one.. ah.. ZZl3... is that meant to be 221B ?". She clicked on ZZl3, as its indicator showed a stronger signal strength than the Speedy's one. Password:

She navigated to the photo on her phone. Damn, she couldn't read the last two lines, and they were too blurry when she zoomed in. She unplugged her notebook and made her way downstairs again. She went directly through the open kitchen door and turned to face the rear wall. She went to place her notebook on the breakfast bar, but realized that the clutter of paraphernalia didn't give her any room. Sighing, she pulled the bar stool out, and swivelled it so it faced the wall with the eye-chart. She slowly perched herself on the stool, and opened her notebook, balancing it on her lap. She typed in the long line of letters and numbers and clicked Connect.

Connected!

Closing the lid of the notebook, and smiling to herself she went back upstairs to check her emails, and to investigate the local theatre scene.

Sherlock hummed to himself as he entered the flat. His conclusions about the rapidity of bruises forming on a dead corpse were correct. Now all he had to do was...

He sniffed. There was a definite female cologne-type smell in the air about his flat. He stepped back out onto the landing, and noticed that the kitchen door was open. Mrs Hudson always made a point of closing that door. "Oh Sherlock, the mess you've made," she had complained once regarding the kitchen and then she had insisted he keep that door closed.

He slowly walked through the kitchen door, noticing immediately that the bar stool was out of place. He looked in the direction the seat was facing, taking in his very familiar eye-chart.  
"No!"  
He raced over to his laptop, logged on to his router configuration page, and checked the attached devices. There, listed underneath the names of his notebook, his phone, and Mrs Hudson's desktop was the name "CopperBeeches".

Sherlock closed the lid of his computer slowly. He smiled to himself.

"Clever girl." he thought.

He placed his elbows on the armrests of his chair and leant back, bringing his hands together and resting his fingertips in front of his mouth. He pondered, is she clever? Why is she clever? He raised his eyes to the ceiling, where he imagined she would be, in her room - John's room - upstairs. He'd just have to find out how clever.

And what was Copper Beeches?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I'm thrilled, as this is my first fanfic.

I probably won't get another update done this week as I'm going away for the weekend. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 2**

"No, don't come. I don't want you here!"

The female voice floated up the stairwell to Sherlock as he was putting on his coat and standing at the entrance to his flat. He stepped onto the landing and peered down.

"Hello again," Sherlock said in a low voice, as Violet came in to view at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Oh, hi," she answered, feeling self-conscious that he had heard her phone conversation. She continued climbing the stairs.

"You've changed your hair!" Sherlock added pointedly, noting that she was now a brunette and no longer a blonde. He took a step backwards into his doorway to allow her to pass him.

"Yes, well the blonde wasn't working for me." Her mouth turned into a smile but her eyes did not. As she brushed past him in order to continue upstairs to her room, Sherlock added softly, "Nice work on the password."

* * *

"Yes, the Snellen chart, which this is clearly a poor imitation of, according to the latest British standards should only use the letters C, D, E, F, H, K, N, P, R, U, V, and Z. I got mine from a market in Belarus."

They were standing in Sherlock's kitchen, admiring the eye-chart in question. Sherlock had uncharacteristically invited Violet in for a cuppa. It had been three days since Violet had first moved in and acquired internet access. Sherlock had been contacted by Scotland Yard and had been distracted by a case - a murder of a museum security guard - and had momentarily forgotten he was going to find out all about Violet. Now that the case was solved, Sherlock was about to while away the time in the lab of Saint Bart's hospital to alleviate the boredom and frustration that inevitably arose from a lull in between cases. He had changed his mind when he encountered Violet on the stairs.

"Oh, of course I knew that." Violet responded sarcastically, wondering how someone could hold that kind of information in their head.

"Well John never noticed, and he's a doctor."

Violent laughed. "You were friends then?" She already knew this. Mrs Hudson had told her about John; not so much about Sherlock though.

Sherlock looked over to the chairs in front of the fireplace. Violet thought she saw his face grow soft momentarily.

"He moved in with his ..." he waved his hand dismissively, "...fiancée."

He spun around, putting his hands in his pockets and moved about the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked eventually. Violet had in the meantime moved over to the fireplace and was peering at the skull.  
"Please," she responded.

"What do you do, exactly?" she asked after a brief silence, her eyes still scanning the objects on the mantelpiece.

Sherlock smirked. He was in a mood to show off. He stopped making the tea, and moved to stand behind the over-stuffed armchair, both hands in his pockets again, facing Violet.

"Consulting Detective", he replied with relish.

"What does that mean", she turned to look at him.

"It means, when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they... consult me".

Triumphantly he walked back to the kitchen bench to continue pouring the tea.

"And you're like this forensic scientist CSI guy? queried Violet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the kitchen wall and sighed.

"It's all about observations and deductions," he began. "Sugar? Milk?" He turned to look at Violet.

"Milk and just one sugar thanks."

Sherlock busied himself with the tea things, then he continued, "Police forensics and detectives can gather the evidence. They use the same facts as me. However they're incapable of making any connections between the facts and what they know of the world, and the world of crime in particular."

"Do the police just call you out of the blue, or do you hang around the station regularly?"

"They call, email," he finished stirring the tea. "... or text" he added, tapping the teaspoon on the side of the cup. Then he strode over to the table in the living room with the two tea cups and handed one to Violet. "And sometimes they just show up at my door."

"Thank you", she said, taking the cup from him and taking a sip.

"I also receive a number of emails and letters," he held up a bunch of envelopes from the table, "from all sorts of people asking for my help." He tossed the pile back onto the table.

"So why are those ones in the fireplace?" Sherlock turned to look at the pile resting on top of a couple of fresh logs.

"Fan mail," he answered, scowling.

"You have fans?" Violet asked, incredulously.

"Is that so hard to imagine?" Sherlock looked slightly annoyed. He continued after Violet shrugged, "Ever since John started blogging about our ... my cases, I started getting messages from ... people. When I asked him to shut down the site, they started sending these", he indicated the pile in the fireplace.

"So you don't even open them?"

"There's no point. I know what they are. They serve no purpose."

"They're fans telling you what they like about your work - how you solve your cases probably. It's nice to feel appreciated", suggested Violet, feeling rather entertained about this whole notion of a Sherlock Holmes fanbase.

"Appreciation? No, not really. I read a couple of them once. One of them was asking me to marry her - hardly work-related - and the other sent a ... " he paused, looking quite sheepish.

"A what?"

"A female hygiene product".

"Oh my god! That's... please tell me it wasn't used."

"Would it answer your question if I told you she wanted me to check her blood type to see if we were a match?"

Violet put her free hand over her mouth and shook her head. When she took her hand away, she was smirking. "Well that's one way of getting your idol's attention."

Sherlock frowned. Idol?

"Well at the very least," he added matter-of-factly, "they keep me warm in winter."

Violet laughed at this, and Sherlock looked at her curiously.

"So what happens when ordinary people email you. Do you reply to all of them?"

Sherlock was enjoying the attention, so he happily opened up his email account to show her.

"I only investigate the ones that sound interesting. Take a look at this," he pointed to a particularly wordy email. "After I read this, I sent the client two questions, and once I'd received the answers the case was solved!"

"No, really? Can I read it?"

"Go ahead," he answered.

He vacated his seat for Violet, and preceded to pace up and down the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

"See if you can think of two questions to ask which would lead you to the identity of the thief and the method he used," he challenged.

"Well, this may take me a while to read," muttered Violet as her eyes scanned the screen.

"Take your time", replied Sherlock, glancing at his watch.

"Would you mind not pacing up and down then?"

"Oh".

He stopped, then walked over to the kitchen. He pulled out a chair and started sorting through specimen slides. He turned on his microscope and placed one of the slides under the lens. He glanced over at Violet intermittently, expecting her to give up reading, but she continued on, frowning now and then as she concentrated.

After about twenty minutes, Violet's phone buzzed. She stood up in order to retrieve it from her front pocket. Sherlock watched as she wrestled it out of her tight-fitting jeans, slightly revealing her midriff as she did so. He sighed, then scoffed at himself as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked down at the microscope again, then back at Violet. Her face had taken on a morose look. The sparkle in her eyes as she had eagerly read Sherlock's email had gone. He thought he saw her blink back tears.

"I have to go," she said in a hollow voice, getting up from her chair.

"Oh?" queried Sherlock, leaning back in his chair.

"I'll ... um... I'd love to continue this tomorrow?"

Her voice sounded strained and she tried to smile.

"Yes, of course".

Sherlock watched her go.

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the front door downstairs.

"Oh that's for me, don't worry!" called Violet as she flew down the stairs.

"We have doorbells!" yelled Sherlock.

He went over to the window, wondering who on earth would be banging so urgently on their door, and if that same person was the one who had just texted Violet, clearly upsetting her in the process.

Looking straight down from the living room windows, you can't exactly see the front door, but you can see the pavement outside. Sherlock could see a young man, early 20s, slicked-back dark hair, jeans, creased light blue shirt with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The man turned to where Sherlock imagined Violet would be coming out and he took the cigarette out of his mouth. He stretched his arms out wide.

Violet came into view. Sherlock couldn't see her face, but he could tell by the way she was standing that she was quite angry. She was gesturing, and when the young man moved forward to put his arms around her she aggressively shrugged him off. She backed away towards the front door, so Sherlock could no longer see her. The man moved toward her, and by his (again) outstretched arms, it looked like he was pleading with her. He then dropped his arms, put his cigarette back in his mouth and turned toward the street at the same time as Sherlock heard the front door open, then close.

As Violet's footsteps could be heard coming closer, Sherlock left the window and sat back down at the kitchen table, busying himself with his microscope. Her footsteps continued past his door, and he heard her make her way upstairs to her room.

Sherlock leant back on his chair. He didn't know why this bothered him so much. It shouldn't have. What did he care? So their new lodger was fighting with her boyfriend. How did that concern him? But the thought of Violet having a boyfriend made him feel... what?

Every time she had smiled at him, or laughed at his jokes this afternoon he had felt slightly - what was that feeling? - elevated?

And now he felt - deflated?

Sherlock scolded himself. He didn't have time for -_feelings_-. His body was behaving like that of a hormonal teenager. He was bored from having no case. He needed to get out, but it was only Wednesday.

* * *

Sherlock yawned, stretched and threw _The Cosmos and You_ magazine down onto the coffee table.

"Boring!"

He was wearing a grey t-shirt and striped grey pyjamas and his second best dressing gown and he had retired to the couch.

No case = no need to get dressed in the morning.

He picked up the tennis ball that was nestled among the apples in the chrome fruit bowl on his coffee table. He then started throwing the ball up so that it hit the ceiling and bounced back down to his outstretched arm. He did this several times, before deciding to test his hand-eye coordination by trying to hit obvious splotches on the ceiling.

"Good morning. Having fun?"

Sherlock caught the tennis ball, then lifted his head to see Violet standing in his doorway, arms crossed, with a slight look of annoyance on her face. He swiveled his body, lowering his bare feet onto the floor and sitting up.

"I was doing my morning exercises. Helps the brain get oxygen", he remarked, sulkily.

Standing up, he then stepped up onto his coffee table and over to the other side. He walked toward the fireplace and picked up his violin from the grey armchair. He plucked at the strings to tune it.

Violet watched him curiously, trying to figure out if this petulant-looking person was the same quick-witted man she had spent yesterday afternoon with. She concluded that he wasn't in the mood for a chat, so she turned and quietly went downstairs to make her morning coffee.

Sherlock looked over at the doorway and was disappointed to find it empty. He put down his violin, and made his way through the kitchen to his bedroom. He slowly got dressed, deciding to spend some time at Bart's laboratory after all...

* * *

In the late afternoon, Violet was returning from a 3km jog around the block just as Sherlock's taxi pulled up outside 221B. She was exhausted, as she hadn't jogged since moving back to London two week's ago. As she stood there bent double from a cramp, Sherlock alighted from the taxi.

"Been for a jog, then?"

Violet winced, then replied, breathlessly, still bending over "I can see why you solve so many cases. Your ability to state the obvious is astounding".

Sherlock was taken aback at her abrupt reply, but then she added, sensing his bewilderment, "Sorry, just in pain here. I've got a cramp."

"Can I do anything for you?" asked Sherlock, hoping not.

"Can you just open the door for me?"

She straightened up. Her face was quite flushed but Sherlock could see that her eyes were red, not from physical exhaustion, he concluded, but from crying.

He unlocked the door and let Violet go in first. She leant against the wall in the entrance way, and took a couple of swigs from her drink bottle. Sherlock closed the door to the street and stood there awkwardly looking at her.

"I'll be okay in a minute - you go up".

He started up the stairs when Violet called out to him. He glanced around.

"Could I come in later and finish reading that case? I was thinking about it earlier and I have a theory".

Sherlock was delighted.

"Of course, whenever you're ready".

* * *

"A ladder. Was there a ladder outside?"

Sherlock smiled at Violet's question.

"Excellent, you're halfway there".

He watched Violet as she scrolled through the email yet again. She sighed, leaning back in the chair.

"No," she exclaimed in defeat. "I don't have anything else. There's something ... there. I just can't put my finger on it".

Sherlock was standing slightly to one side of her and bent over, whispering in her ear, "Brother".

"What?! Does he have a brother?"

Sherlock grinned broadly, the creases on either side of his eyes becoming more prominant. He straightened up.

"That's brilliant! You're amazing!" remarked Violet, standing up.

She was standing quite close to him now as he hadn't moved since he had positioned himself just behind her chair.

"Can we do this again tomorrow?" her eyes sparkled, and she gently touched his upper arm as she posed the question.

"Yes," Sherlock croaked, since his mouth had gone dry. He cleared his throat, "that's if you're not doing anything, like ... having to go to work?"

"Oh, I'm an unemployed actor, didn't I tell you?" she replied sweetly. "Speaking of which, I have to get ready. I friend of mine just won a part in a panto and we're going out to celebrate. I'll see you later?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, his head still abuzz.

She was out the door while he was reacting to the news that she was an actor. Of course he had deduced that, but he wondered why he hadn't done the obvious thing and actually asked her what she did for a living.

* * *

Sherlock had decided to spend Thursday evening in. His black coat hung unused on the back of his living room door, next to his more frequently worn dark blue one. He kept glancing at it, but his mind kept wondering what Violet was up to, and if she was out with her boyfriend as well as her panto friend.

At a quarter to one he was still sitting in his armchair, reading a study on serial killers and wondering what time Violet would be home; if she would be home, and if not, was she staying at her boyfriend's.

He heard the latch of the front door downstairs and he froze, listening for Violet's footsteps on the stairs. His living room door was open and he was hoping she would glance in and say good night, or make some lovely, sweet comment.

The footsteps he heard, however, were slow, and inconsistent. All his faculties were telling him these were the steps of someone inebriated. He had a sinking feeling, and then he saw her. She did glance in, but her eyes were glassy, not shining. She leant against the door frame.

"Sherlock?" she said smiling. Her eyes were half closed. Yes, she was very drunk.

Sherlock got up and slowly walked over to her.

"Sfunny name, Sherlock. It's like... Shylock, from a Midsomer Night's Dream... no that's not it."

She looked confused, then giggled, "The Merchant of Venice!"

"Did you have a good night?" Sherlock asked, his face impassive.

"No. My friend's a fuckin' bitch and she stole my part!" she answered sulkily.

Sherlock was appalled.

"Well, you should probably go to bed now; it's very late," he said gently, as if speaking to a child.

He wanted her gone from his doorway as soon as possible. He touched the door, hoping she'd get the hint that he was going to shut it.

"Good night!" he said, waiting.

Violet looked slightly annoyed, and stated, "I lost my earring," then slowly turned and continued her wobbly journey upstairs. He listened for the sound of her door opening and closing, and prayed it wasn't the sound of her slumping to the ground.

The door opened, then closed, then - silence.

Sherlock slowly closed his own door, then made his way to his bedroom, switching off the floor lamps on his way.  
He lay down on his bed, on top of the covers, and stared at the darkened ceiling for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ** I just had to get this out of my head before leaving this weekend, so I worked my butt off! Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

It was about lunchtime when Sherlock first saw Violet that day. He had been sitting in his armchair reading, or trying to read, _The Alpha Code: A Complete Study_, and not thinking about Violet's drunken behaviour the night before. And of course in deliberately not thinking about it, he naturally thought about it quite a lot.

He heard her barefooted footfalls before he actually saw her. He saw that her hair was damp, but neatly pulled up in a ponytail, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, and she wore grey trackies and a loose fitting white shirt. She smiled and waved at him, calling, "Hey!" as she quickly made her way downstairs.

The tight sensation in the pit of his stomach returned and he frowned.

He tried reading to the end of the chapter, but found himself reading the same paragraph over and over.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs again. Slower this time, and when she appeared in the doorway, he saw she was carrying her coffee mug and a plate of toast.

"Good morning," she said, beaming at him.

He smiled the tiniest smile because his muscles just wouldn't function.

"If you're not using your computer, could I read some more cases over breakfast?"

Her demeanor was so bright and chirpy that he thought he may have imagined her visit last night. His heart quickened.

"Breakfast?" he asked, making a point of glancing at his watch.

She laughed, stepping into the room, and his insides did that annoying fluttering thing.

"I know, I got in a bit late last night. I think I had a bit too much to drink too..."

Understatement of the year, thought Sherlock.

"So I decided to sleep in this morning," she finished.

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. He was waiting for some kind of apology, or acknowledgement of her behavior.

"So, may I?" her smile widening.

"Oh, go ahead," he waved his hand dismissively and turned back to his book. He propped one arm up on the armrest of his chair, and rested his forehead on his fingertips. He tapped the side of his book with the index finger of his other hand in frustration. He started counting the number of exclamation marks on the page. The author, he thought, seemed prone to sensationalist statements.

He had counted up to twelve when Violet exclaimed, "Oh Sherlock, you helped a little girl find her lost bunny rabbit. You're so sweet!"

Sweet?

"Where did you find it?" she asked, facing him.

His mind raced through the entire Baskerville adventure, then he answered without turning around, "Her mother accidentally brought one of the ...er.. shop rabbits home, and once she realized her error she took it back."

"But why did it glow?"

"A little girl's imagination, probably."

There was silence again, and Sherlock stared off into space.

Violet interrupted his thoughts again with, "I'm just reading the one about the six Napoleon statues. Obviously there's something hidden in one of them for the thieves to systematically smash each one. What was hidden there - there's no email trail here, but you filed it under Solved."

"Diamonds," replied Sherlock, which reminded him:

"Did you find your lost earring?" he asked, swiveling around to face Violet.

"What?" she looked puzzled.

"The earring you said you lost last night - did you end up finding it?"

"I... don't," she looked completely confused. She looked away, and a sadness crept into her face. She turned back to the screen, saying quietly, "No, not yet."

She doesn't remember, thought Sherlock. She has no idea what I'm talking about. She's upset because she knows she blacked out and this probably isn't the first time that's happened either.

He had the sudden inclination to cheer her up.

"Have a read of this one," he said, rising out of his chair and stepping over to the table. He leant over her and as she moved her hand away from the keyboard he scrolled down and clicked open a new message.

"There, this is one of my favourites. The client was a bit ... erratic in her choice of words, but you'll get the gist of it."

Violet's mood brightened. "I'd love to follow you around one day, when you're working on one of your cases," she said earnestly looking up at Sherlock. A small lump formed in his throat.

Violet smiled as she started reading the highly-charged email. Sherlock grinned as he read it over her shoulder.

"This bit here," he pointed at the middle of the screen, and Violet laughed as she read the wild accusations.

"Um, hello," said a male voice from the doorway. Both Violet and Sherlock looked up, mid-laughter.

"John!" Sherlock straightened up as he took in the sight of his former flat mate.

"Hello. I'm John Watson," John said to Violet, extending his hand as he strode across the room. John knew full well that Sherlock wouldn't extend the courtesy of introducing them.

"Oh, you're John," Violet replied, rising up out of her chair and stepping towards John, "John from upstairs?" She returned his handshake. "I'm Violet."

"Violet from upstairs?" laughed John.

Behind Violet Sherlock rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Yes it's all very lovely."

"How are you finding it..." John's eyes flickered to Sherlock, "... living here?"

"Well, I've only been here a week. It's lovely and cosy, and I can't complain about the neighbours yet." Violet replied. John laughed. Sherlock scoffed and stalked over to the kitchen.

"Tea, John?" he offered turning back to face the living room.

"You never make me tea," replied John, incredulously. On seeing Sherlock's annoyed reaction, he added, "Mrs Hudson just made me a cuppa and anyway I can't stay. Can I just have a quick word?"

John walked over to the kitchen to join Sherlock. Violet sat down again and continued reading the email half-heartedly while trying to listen to John and Sherlock's conversation.

"Yes, what is it?" demanded Sherlock impatiently.

"Mrs Hudson," began John, "She's too bloody scared to ask you about the pension scandal since you nearly bit her head off on Monday when she rang you about it."

"Yes, well I was standing over a corpse at the time."

"Well you promised to look into it. Her friends have lost their life savings, Sherlock, and they're too scared to go to the police."

"Yes I know, it's all ...", he wiggled his fingers in the air, "...complicated."

"No it's not, or you'd be working on it day and night. You find it completely tedious so you won't even glance at it."

Sherlock was momentarily distracted when Violet's phone began to ring. He watched her stand up and wrestle it out of her pocket.

"Sherlock!" John followed his gaze.

"Hmm?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows under the guise of an active listener while his focus still remained on Violet. She had answered her phone and had started walking out of the living room, waving at the two men as she left.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry, what?" asked Sherlock, his attention finally back on John.

"Oh god, Sherlock, just... just," stammered John, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Just keep it zipped okay?"

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, confused at the change of subject.

"You and your," John waved at the black coat hanging on the back of the living room door, "...Thursday night nocturnal liaisons. Just try to keep it in your pants, okay?"

Sherlock straightened, bringing himself up to his full height and looked down at John.

He said, in measured tones, "She lives upstairs, John".

"Yes well, just behave, that's all."

Sherlock stared at John, then slowly turned and walked calmly towards the back of the kitchen and down the passageway to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Sherlock! We haven't finished talking about..."

John groaned then exited through the kitchen door, muttering to himself, "for fuck's sake."

* * *

Sherlock slammed the front door and rushed upstairs. It was nearly midnight, and the hope of a fun Friday night at the docks examining corpses and dumpsters had been dashed by the pure competence of the police forensics team who had actually done some real work for a change. Sherlock was left with little to do, so he returned home, fuming at the smugness of Anderson and his cronies.

He showered and shaved and thought he would dissect a bagful of thumbs in his freezer. He didn't feel much like sleep yet.

While doing such methodical work, he found his thoughts returning to Violet - wondering what she was up to tonight. Probably out on a -date-. That was another word he despised.

Two hours and six thumbs later, he heard the unmistakeable sound of the front door latch. He stood up, and walked into his living room to check that he had in fact closed his door this time. He couldn't stand another "conversation" like the one they had on Thursday night.

Same footsteps again, and then, "Sherlock!" followed by a sob.

Sherlock opened the kitchen door to the landing and found Violet sitting on the top of the stairs in tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked impatiently.

"Nick's outside and he won't leave me alone." She answered feebly.

Sherlock re-wrapped his dressing gown around himself as he stalked downstairs, fuming, "This is fuckin' great."

He opened the door to the street, steeling himself for a hurl of drunken abuse, but the pavement was empty. He looked up and down the street, but there was not a soul.

"Crackpot," he thought to himself, shutting the door and walking back upstairs.

"There's no one..." he began but saw that Violet was no longer sitting on the steps where he'd left her.

"Violet?" He called, softly, entering his kitchen. He walked around to the living room and out through the living room door. He made his way up the stairs and stood outside her door listening.

He knocked softly, and hearing nothing, he opened it.

"Violet?"

She was standing with her back to him in the dark by her window, illuminated by the street lights outside. Her dressed was unzipped at the back, and she was just pushing it off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor as Sherlock swiftly pulled the door back towards him. He left it ajar slightly, and whispered, "Violet, he's not there anymore."

He listened, but was met with silence.

"Are you all right?"

Still nothing.

He gently closed the door all the way, and made his way downstairs again to his flat.

"What a fuckin' fruit loop." he muttered to himself.

* * *

At lunch the next day, Sherlock found himself in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, scanning her fridge for leftovers. She was in her sitting room darning, or crocheting, or whatever it was little old ladies do with pointy sticks, he had thought to himself.

He had also placed himself there strategically as he knew Violet would be down at some stage for "breakfast".

He was not disappointed.

He was leaning against the sink eating a cream puff when she entered.

"Morning!" he waved the cream puff at her.

"Hi Sherlock", she replied. She looked pitiful. She walked over to the cupboard and retrieved a box of weetbix.

"Mrs Hudson's got a secret stash of fruit loops over there," he offered helpfully, and pointing to another cupboard, "She thinks I don't know about it."

"I'm fine with this thanks."

She was less chirpy today. Sherlock was a tad disappointed.

He watched as she poured milk into her bowl, extracted a spoon from the drawer, then walked over to the table, sitting in the chair that was against the wall so she ended up facing him.

"Boyfriend troubles?" he began.

She eyed him suspiciously.

"Ex-boyfriend," she corrected.

"Oh, he's your ex-boyfriend now," repeated Sherlock, his hopes lifting.

"He's been my ex-boyfriend for over two months," she stated, frowning at him.

"Oh?"

She sighed. "Yes, I broke up with him, then went to work in Manchester for two months. Now that I'm back in London he thinks there's a chance we can get back together again."

She continued eating.

"So he followed you home last night?"

She put her spoon down, and looked up and studied Sherlock for a moment. She swallowed.

Then her eyelids fluttered and she looked downwards, whispering, "What happened last night?"

Sherlock frowned, and said quite loudly that his voice startled her, "Why do you do that?"

She looked up at him as he came closer to the table, "Do what?"

Sherlock put his hands on the table and leant across from her. His voice deepened as he said carefully, "Get so drunk that you don't remember anything?"

Violet's face dissolved in tears, and she sobbed, "I'm sorry, I just..."

At that moment Mrs Hudson entered the kitchen. She observed Sherlock looking quite menacing leaning across the table from Violet who was crying into her hands.

"Sherlock!" she reprimanded.

At this interruption Violet stood up and said "I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson," then she squeezed past the landlady, and escaped into the passageway. They heard her footsteps overhead as she raced upstairs.

Sherlock had straightened up and strolled toward the back of the kitchen.

"What did you say to her, young man? You go to her now and apologise!"

"Apologise?" he turned around, looking at Mrs Hudson incredulously. "Apologise for what? I told her the truth, why should I apologize for that?"

"You're not very subtle most of the time, Sherlock Holmes, so whatever you've said to her you'd better get up there now and apologise."

Mrs Hudson crossed her arms in a manner that suggested she not be trifled with.

Sherlock sulkily left the kitchen and made his way upstairs. As he did so, his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He retrieved it and discovered a text message from Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Excellent," Sherlock commented as he opened the message. He quickly read it, and hastily sent a reply.

A plan had formed in his mind, one which would eliminate the need for him to apologise to Violet.

* * *

Sherlock and Violet were seated together in a taxi heading for Belles Square.

Sherlock's plan had him waiting what he thought was a reasonable amount of time for Violet to become slightly less upset with him (one hour), after which he went up to her room and invited her to accompany him on a "real, live, yet-to-be-solved murder case". He thought she'd jump at the chance. Instead, she had looked at him as if he were a madman, and said, "I'll think about it."

He told her that he was leaving in 15 minutes if she wanted to come, otherwise, and he said this as politely as he could, there would always be a next time.

30 minutes later, they were in a cab together. No apology necessary. Sherlock was quite chuffed with himself.

There was a small crowd at Belles Square as they arrived. Sherlock ducked under the police barriers, and gestured to Violet to do the same. Her told her to wait while he went over to a couple of detectives who were standing nearest the body. He spoke with them for a while then they left him. He beckoned to Violet.

She slowly walked over, unsure how she'd react to seeing her first dead body. She gazed down at the man. Sherlock had knelt down and was examining the man's fingertips, wrist watch, and cuffs with a small magnifying glass. Violet looked back at the group of people standing at the barriers. One woman was sobbing into the shoulder of another woman, and this woman was holding the hand of a small child.

Violet breathed out, and her eyes filled with tears as she turned back to Sherlock who was now examining the man's shoe laces with the same magnifying glass.

Sherlock glanced up at her as she sniffed.

"Are you crying?" he asked angrily.

"He's someone's father."

Sherlock stood up.

He said to Violet in a low voice, "They're all someone's father, or brother, or husband, or son. To me, they're a mystery to be solved. A case to be cracked!"

"I just thought you should take a moment out of respect."

He took a step closer to her.

"Look at those people over there," Sherlock pointed to the group beyond the barrier, "They're all taking a moment. They're all shedding the tears. Me? I'm trying to find out who and why someone murdered the poor bastard. Why don't you work out which side of the barrier you want to be on."

He turned and knelt back down, resuming his examination of the body. After a moment Violet knelt down opposite him. "What are you looking for?"

He smiled at her. "I'm glad you asked..."

* * *

"I can't believe I'm eating this after examining a corpse!" Violet exclaimed as she put another hot chip into her mouth.  
"Needs more salt," commented Sherlock as he opened another sachet. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, or more truthfully, Violet's company.

"And where are you off to tonight?" he asked.  
"A girlfriend's place. We're going to stay in and watch a movie."

A movie. That's sounds quiet and respectable, and sober, thought Sherlock.

"So what does Sherlock Holmes have planned for a Saturday night?"

"A trip to the morgue, I think. Always lively on a weekend!" He winked at her.

Violet wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

She felt very happy, and ... safe. She had felt like she'd been living on edge all week. But she dared not entertain the thought that was growing inside her. The thought that began with, "I have a tiny schoolgirl crush on Sherlock Holmes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Violet spied the cab pulling up outside 221 and quickened her pace. She arrived breathlessly at the door, just as Sherlock was unlocking it.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, hello. No nasty cramps today?" Sherlock was clearly pleased to see her; he found his thoughts had drifted back to her constantly over the last few days when he was abroad.

"I've been running every day. It's all a part of my staying healthy and keeping off the booze campaign."

"Sounds like a good plan," Sherlock commented, being quite pleased to hear that. He opened the front door and let Violet enter first. He followed, carrying his small suitcase beside him.

"How was Bosnia? Mrs Hudson said you had a case there?" Violet asked as they ascended the stairs together.

"Yes, Sarajevo. I recovered their precious Haggadah - the oldest one of its kind in the world. The National Museum is indebted to me, naturally. It's too bad they're under funded."

"It's good to see you back. I'd love to hear all about the case, if you don't mind telling me some time?" Violet replied, pausing on the steps leading up to her room.

"Of course... now?" ventured Sherlock smiling. He loved to recount his successes. Retelling the case to the Bosnian officials had lost a lot in the translation. Besides, he'd jump at any chance he could get to have Violet admire his work.

"Sure! I'll just get changed, then I'll be right down."

"I'll put the kettle on."

* * *

Sherlock loved to make Violet laugh. Their conversation had moved on from the stolen Jewish illuminated manuscript to the time John was on a first date with a lady named Sarah, and their date had ended with them both being kidnapped by a Chinese assassin.

"Dinner?" Sherlock had asked, before he even had time to think whether that was an appropriate proposition or not.

Violet smiled shyly, then replied, "I have to tell you, I have a huge craving for fish and chips, so I'm not going to be happy with anything else."

Sherlock wanted to tell her that he had a huge craving to spend as much time as possible in her company, but instead he said, "Anything's fine with me, as long as it's not full of spices." He got up from his chair and smiled. "Bosnian food doesn't agree with me."

They walked together down Baker Street enjoying the cool night air, and the closeness of each other's company. Violet told Sherlock her news of auditioning for the starring role in a small theatre production of "Rose's War".

"If I get a call-back at all, it should be in the next day or so. "

"Ah, you would've loved the National Theatre..."

They chatted about the arts and culture of Bosnia and Herzegovina, of which Sherlock knew a surprising amount of detail, before stopping in front of Freddie's.

"Here?" asked Sherlock.

"Looks like a fine establishment," laughed Violet.

They entered the very busy cafe, with plastic tables and chairs crowding the linoleum floor, posters of Elvis and Marilyn adorning the walls, and a television set hanging off a ceiling bracket with the sign "Do Not Change the Channel" written on a placard and sticky-taped to the bottom of it.

Violet ordered for them both as Sherlock reluctantly saved them a table in the far corner. He sat, waiting for Violet, entertaining himself by watching the telly and the patrons at the same time.

It wasn't too long before Violet returned carrying an empty wine bottle with the number 12 written on it with white paint.

"Won't be long," she said, sitting down across from Sherlock.

They sat in silence for a few seconds while Sherlock continued to stare, fascinated, at the television. Then he said, quite suddenly, "What's Copper Beeches?" He redirected his gaze to Violet.

"Oh," replied Violet, looking confused. "How do you know about that?"

"It's your computer name," he stated simply.

"Oh," laughed Violet, then she looked down at a coaster that lay on the table. She slowly rotated it, saying, "Its just a place I associate with my ... Mum."

"What is it?"

"I don't actually know," she looked up at Sherlock and smiled, "I've always imagined it to be one of those beautiful, older houses with hedges and roses, and ... well actually, when I was younger I drew pictures of it as a huge castle, with rainbows, fairies and unicorns."

She looked a bit embarrassed.

"So you don't know anything about it?"

"I've never bothered to find out. I just knew it had something to do with my mother and it made her happy."

"Well we can find out right now if you like."

Sherlock removed his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, and immediately launched his browser app.

"No, don't please, Sherlock." Violet had placed her hand on Sherlock's free hand which rested on the table. "Please don't look it up. I don't want to know."

The warmth of Violet's hand on his made Sherlock pause more than her actual words did.

"Why wouldn't you want to find out something you don't know?" he asked, rather puzzled.

Violet removed her hand.

"I don't know. I think I have a romantic idea - a childish one, I guess - about what that place meant to my mother. I'd rather keep my own version of what it is, rather than the reality of what it may end up being."

Sherlock studied her face. He didn't understand.

"Please, Sherlock," she said again.

He returned his phone to his pocket.

"Thank you." She looked down at the coaster again.

Sherlock was silent for a moment or two, before asking, "She died when you were quite young, didn't she?"

Violet looked up at Sherlock, taking in his cold, grey eyes, that seemed to know things about her that she hadn't told him. She knew it should come as no surprise that Sherlock would have worked out things about her by now through observation and study.

He noticed her quizzical look. "The photos on the shelf in your room," he began, "they're all of what looks like you at various ages with your dad, and school friends and other people. There's only one of a young lady who looks like you do now - a very old photo though - standing with a small child. I assumed that was your mother. There aren't any other pictures of her."

Violet smiled in acknowledgement of Sherlock's deductions.

"She died when I was five - in a ..." she paused, looking back down at the coaster, "... a car accident."

She waited.

Most people said, "I'm sorry to hear that," at this point, but Sherlock wasn't most people.  
Obviously.

Instead, he tutted, and said, "Look."

Violet looked up at Sherlock to see what he was referring to. His attention was back on the television behind her. Violet turned around to look at the news item. The volume on the tv wasn't loud enough to hear over the babble of fish 'n chip shop patrons, but Violet read the headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen, "Police Baffled at Disappearance of 15 year old Knightsbridge College student."

"Pfff, baffled!" Sherlock muttered, "They've had the case since last Friday. Oh look they're interviewing the school principal."

A white-haired, middle-aged gentlemen was talking into a reporter's microphone.

"And now a teacher! Let's see if they interview the janitor next. They always make the most insightful comments," scoffed Sherlock.

"He looks a bit nervous. Perhaps he's the guilty one, look," added Violet, pointing to the English teacher.

"Everyone looks guilty being interviewed on national television. Oh good, we get to see her Facebook page now."

At that point, the waitress brought their order over.

"Didn't expect to see you in here ever again, Mr Holmes," she didn't look amused.  
"Ah, Cathy. How's the husband? How's Freddie?" Sherlock asked pleasantly.  
"Still in Pentonville, you bastard!"

The waitress looked at Violet then back at Sherlock. A smile formed on her lips.

"Enjoy your meal - I highly recommend the battered fish. It's a new recipe!" and with that she stalked off.

Violet and Sherlock both looked down at their meals.

"I don't think we should eat that, do you?" Violet asked, smiling sweetly.

* * *

"Well, I thought since you ordered for us, I could get away with it. Clearly not," Sherlock explained as they walked back along the street.

"Never mind. I should be having a salad anyway. Lets get those pre-packaged ones from the ..." Violet was interrupted by her ringing phone. They continued to walk as she answered it. Sherlock prayed it wasn't the ex-boyfriend.

"Oh my god!" she was saying excitedly. "Really?" She listened for a bit then said, "I definitely will, thank you. See you next week!"

She ended the call then stopped and turned to Sherlock, who had also stopped.

"Sherlock, I got the part! I got the part! Oh my god!"

Sherlock smiled, and then Violet, who was obviously overcome with excitement took a step toward Sherlock and much to his surprise she grabbed him in a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Oh my god!" she breathed into his neck. Sherlock stiffly raised his arms and awkwardly patted Violet on the back.

"Good, good," he said.

She untangled her arms from him and took a step back, still beaming.

"I just have to ring Mandi, hang on."

Oh Mandi, thought Sherlock, not having a clue who Mandi was. As long as Mandi wasn't the ex-boyfriend...no, that was "Nick".

He listened as she told Mandi the news.

"Of course we'll celebrate... oh no, not tonight," she turned and smiled at Sherlock. He suddenly felt very warm inside.

"... oh no, not this weekend either. I'll be in Manchester, remember? ... Definitely next week. .. Ok, talk to you later!"

She smiled at Sherlock again, searching his face eagerly, before exclaiming, "Sherlock!"

"Yes, yes, you got the part, wonderful!" he thought he should remark hastily, lest she pounce on him again. Not that he didn't like that - he just wasn't prepared for it.

Violet felt very smug. Everything seemed right with the world. She'd finally found a part-time job, she was spending an evening with Sherlock, and now she'd won the starring role in a World War 2 theatre production.

They continued their walk.

"Are you off to Manchester?" queried Sherlock, who hoped Violet wouldn't mind that he had overheard her conversation - it was hard not to have though.

"Um, yes. My brother's having an engagement party."

"I didn't know you had a brother?"

"Step-brother. Don't worry, my family is complicated," she added when Sherlock looked confused.

"So, an engagement party. That sounds like a significant celebration?"

"I know what you're thinking, Sherlock. No, I'm not going to drink. I'm going to be quite strict about that! Oh, I didn't tell you where I work now. I got a part-time job in The Oakes."

"A pub."

"Yes!" She smiled at him expectantly, as if waiting for his approval.

"You're working in a pub, while you're trying to reduce your alcohol consumption?" Sherlock frowned at her.

"Not reduce. Eliminate altogether. There's nothing that puts you off drinking than serving people alcohol all night and slowly watching their behavior disintegrate. Best antidote for drinking!"

Then she stopped walking, exclaiming,"Oh no, I'm going to have to give up that job!"

"Why?" asked Sherlock, already confused at the logic of Violet's decision making.

"Rehearsals will be Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and they're two of the three days I'm rostered on to work. They can't give me any other days. Damn, I'm back to being unemployed again, well, almost unemployed. I won't be able to live on what they'll pay me at the theatre."

They resumed walking.

"How have you been paying your rent all this time you've been unemployed?" Sherlock asked, before thinking maybe he shouldn't pry.

"Oh," replied Violet, momentarily preoccupied, "A favour."

"You did Mrs Hudson a favour in exchange for paying the rent?" asked Sherlock, incredulously.

"No. I friend owes me a favour. He paid my rent. And the bond, actually."

Sherlock watched as Violet tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. Her hair was always doing that, and Sherlock had the frequent compulsion to reach over and brush it away for her.

He wasn't happy about hearing about the friend, or the favour. Every time he knew more about her, the more puzzling she became.

He had an idea.

"You know," he began slowly, feeling quite nervous, "you could always work for me."

Violet stopped walking.

"What do you mean, for you?" she asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"I mean, I need an assistant." Sherlock put his hands in his pockets.

"To do what, exactly?"

He didn't like her reaction. This may not go well.

"Paperwork, filing, that kind of thing. You've seen my desk..." He smiled.

Violet smiled back at him. This gave Sherlock courage.

"Paying bills, banking cheques, filing my fan mail," he smiled, "Oh and maybe take my suits to the dry cleaners, and..." He was on a roll now.

"Hang on, you mean like a personal assistant."

"Yes."

"Not doing ironing or dishes."

"Is that not considered...?"

Violet laughed.

Sherlock was unsure about the meaning of the laugh. Violet started walking again and Sherlock continued alongside her.

They walked in silence for a bit, Sherlock's insides churning. He'd overstepped the mark this time, he thought.

"Do I get to accompany you on your cases?"

Sherlock jumped for joy, internally though. "Of course."

"And how much would you pay me?"

"Oh, I don't know - whatever the going rate is for a personal assistant slash sidekick," he added, daring her to smile.

She stopped again, looking thoughtful and slightly amused.

"It's a deal," she said eventually.

"Great, then, we'll figure out..." but he was interrupted by Violet stepping forward, standing on tip toe, and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she turned and walked ahead of him into the convenience store to purchase their salads, leaving Sherlock standing on the pavement outside, wondering what on earth had possessed him to make that offer.

* * *

"It's a plant," remarked Sherlock, turning the lettuce leaf around on his fork and scowling.

"Yes, and it's dinner. Stop examining every piece in your salad bowl as if it were evidence. Just eat it."

Violet was seated at Sherlock's computer. Sherlock lounged in his grey armchair. While they were eating dinner #2, Violet had been reading new emails to Sherlock to see if he was interested in any of the cases that presented themselves.

"Why don't you visit this lovely couple. Their story sounds intriguing."

"I know, why don't you visit them for me, gather all the relevant data, and tell me all about it when you get back. You like chatting to people, and it can be your first job as my assistant."

"I prefer sidekick actually," Violet joked. "And anyway, my train leaves for Manchester at 2. I couldn't possibly get to their flat and back again in time. You need to go."

"No, I'm busy tomorrow morning," yawned Sherlock.

"Where are you off to?"

"Court. I may get called as a witness for a case I closed over a month ago - you read that one: the Napoleon statues."

"Ooh, I like that one."

"Why don't you come then? It may prove to be ... educational," Sherlock suggested. Any excuse, he thought, any excuse to have her by my side and let her hear how brilliant I am.

"I'd love to! I'd better go upstairs and pack now though, so I can leave for the station straight after lunch."

She got up from the desk, and stopped at Sherlock's chair.

"Good night, Sherlock, and thanks again for the job!"

"I'm not sure if I mentioned cups of tea!"

She was half way out of the door when she turned around and replied, "I have it white with one sugar, don't forget!"

* * *

Sherlock and Violet spent most of Friday morning sitting in the back of the courtroom, giggling like a couple of naughty school children. Actually Violet did most of the giggling, while Sherlock quietly whispered to her which jury members were sleeping with each other, and which of them had eaten the last chocolate chip cookie.

Sherlock wasn't called as a witness during the morning session but was requested to be present during the afternoon session just in case.

"I have to go catch my train," Violet told Sherlock, as they wandered outside during the lunch break.

"Oh, yes, the trip to Manchester," Sherlock said, feeling a tiny bit deflated.

"I'll see you in a couple of days ...Sunday," she added.

"Good," replied Sherlock, putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

Violet looked up at Sherlock, half expecting something more. When he didn't say anything, she took a step closer, and kissed him on the cheek as before.

"Bye!" she said, stepping back and smiling.

"Be good and don't drink," he answered, before turning on his heels and disappearing up the court steps.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Hi, hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Thanks for following! Just have to say that the first "scene" is Violet-centred. I know it's a no-no to write so much about an OC, but this bit (without being spoilery) is important to the plot.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

_I hate Manchester_, thought Violet, standing under a coffee shop umbrella. _It rains every. single. time._

She looked up and down the street, waiting for Jake. She didn't have to wait long before a silver Audi pulled up at the curb in front of her. The rear door opened, and a man called out, "Do you want to get in out of the rain?"

Violet bent down a little, so she could address the passenger in the back seat.

"Aren't we having coffee?" she indicated the shop behind her.

He got out of the car, doing up the button on his light grey suit.

"I'm sorry, Violet, I can't stay. I'm in between meetings."

He quickly walked over to Violet, who took in his form: his short, sandy hair, his broad shoulders, his steel, blue eyes. _He's so different to Sherlock_, thought Violet. And she immediately wondered why she had made that comparison.

They embraced, then Jake gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Violet put her hand gently to the side of his face.

"That will be enough of that - don't get any ideas," she warned him, with the hint of a smile.

"Don't worry - I didn't mean anything by it. I'm seeing someone now. Come on, sit in the car for a minute. I've got some news."

He led her by the hand to the car and waited while she climbed in first.

"You've got yourself a driver - that's a bit fancy," Violet commented as they sat in the back seat.

"Yes, I'm far too busy to drive. I have too many business dealings to make." He indicated his phone.

"And far too busy to catch up with an old friend. I'm only in town for the weekend, you know."

He smirked.

"You're not so old," he replied, looking at Violet fondly. "How was the engagement party?"

"It's tonight. I'm not looking forward to it. But enough of that, Jake. I want to hear your news."

He looked at her for a few seconds before saying, "I'm getting a divorce."

Violet stared at him with a sinking feeling in her stomach. No, she didn't want to feel hurt about that news, maybe just ... disappointed.

"Why ... now?" she blinked back tears.

"Andrew said he didn't care about the inheritance. He wants to make it on his own... Look, I'm sorry, Violet. I didn't want to upset you, but I wanted to tell you myself."

He pulled her into an embrace. Violet pushed back a little and touched his face again.

"I'm happy for you, I really am. You can move on now. That's good."

She dropped her hand again.

"And you? Are you all right? Nick not still hanging around is he?"

"No, it's all good," she attempted to smile. "I should let you get to your meeting then."

"Oh, yes."

Jake got out of the car and offered his hand to help Violet step out. He hugged her again, saying, "Ring me if you need anything. Anything at all. You know that right?"

She pulled away from him.

"Yes, thank you, Jake."

"Need any more rent money?"

"No, I'm good for now. I'm in another play. You'll actually have to come watch this one!"

He grinned at her and got back into the car.

"I'll try!"

"You'd better!" she warned, as Jake smiled and shut the door.

Violet moved back to the umbrella and watched the car as it sped away.

_Prick._

* * *

Sherlock sat in his grey armchair with his elbows resting on the sides of the chair, and his fingertips together, touching his mouth. His eyes were narrowed as he gazed at the wall opposite him. His legs were crossed and he had a journal open in his lap. He had moved his armchair over so he could be in a better position to view the contents of the wall while he was thinking. His buffalo skull had been replaced with photos, a map, and an assortment of handwritten notes.

"Oh good, they've given you the missing teenager case!" exclaimed Violet, as she entered Sherlock's flat, and came up behind him. "Nice montage!"

"You're back," he stated without changing his position. "How was the engagement party?"

"Great. Good," she answered, walking up to stand beside his armchair, but still gazing at the wall.

Sherlock turned to look up at her, wondering if he could detect any signs of a previous night's binge drinking. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright and eager.

"Tell me what you have," she demanded.

He put the journal down, stood up, and walked over to the wall.

"Francis Carfax. 15 years old, missing since Friday. This is where she lived," he pointed to a marking on the map, "and the college is here. The last signal from her mobile phone was from here." He frowned, then added, "These are photos of objects from her room that the police thought were significant. John's just gone to take more photos. I can't rely on Scotland Yard to determine what's relevant. Ah, speak of the devil..."

Sherlock turned as he heard John Watson's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"And the contents of her waste paper basket," said John, handing Sherlock a bag of papers and a stack of photos.

"Excellent," commented Sherlock as he moved over to his desk and up-ended the contents onto it.

"Hello again," John turned to Violet. "How are you, Violet?"

"Great, John. It's good to be back," she looked over at Sherlock as she said this.

"And, er, you just came back from Manchester? Are you originally from there?" he asked conversationally.

"Um, no, I just went back for an engagement party. I used to live there though - for a couple of years. Then I went back to do a play. Manchester keeps dragging me back," she laughed.

Sherlock looked up from what he was doing, clearly annoyed at Violet and John's small talk.

"Oh, you're in the theatre? Been in anything I may have seen?"

Sherlock scoffed and resumed his paper vetting.

"I don't know, unless you've attended any university plays..."

"Er.. not recently," replied John, sheepishly.

"...or the play in Manchester, _The Runaways_ which ran over a couple of weekends?"

"Uh, I rarely get to Manchester, and I'm not really up on the Mancurian arts scene."

"That would be a 'No' then," interrupted Sherlock impatiently. "John could you hand me that journal on my chair please?"

John grabbed the journal, and took it over to Sherlock. Violet resumed studying the wall.

"Well, I'd better get going. My shift starts in an hour."

"Oh, bye John. Nice to see you again!" said Violet, turning around.

"Yes, you too. I'll have to see you in your next play. Let me know when you're doing another one."

"Oh, there will be one coming up soon. It's set during the Second World War."

"Oh good. Mary will like that."

"Ah, the wife," added Sherlock, without looking up.

"Fiancée," corrected John, through gritted teeth. "Well I'm off then!"

John smiled at Violet, then looked over at Sherlock.

"Sherlock."

"John," replied Sherlock, still studying various bits of paper.

John turned and left. They heard the downstairs door slam shut, and then Sherlock looked up at Violet.

"Here, read this," he tossed her the journal, which she caught mid-air.

"The diary of a teenage girl. I've read it. The ramblings of a lunatic. Why don't you try... you're a ...a ...". He waved his hand at her.

"...lunatic?" she finished, smirking. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"A former teenage girl."

Violet smiled inwardly. She had missed this banter with Sherlock.

She walked over to the couch and sat down on it, tucking her legs underneath her body. She read in silence for a while. Sherlock continued to shuffle the papers on his desk. Half an hour later, Violet stretched out on the couch, her legs feeling stiff from being in the same position for so long. She lay on her back, holding the diary out in front of her. Sherlock had moved back to his armchair. New pins holding various bits of paper retrieved from Francis Carfax's rubbish bin were now stuck to the wall. Sherlock was studying them. He looked over at Violet, as she turned over to lie on her stomach. She rested her chin on one hand, and propped up the diary on the end of the couch. Sherlock found his eyes taking in the shape of her body and the outline of her breasts against the flimsy fabric of her shirt. He imagined himself lying on the couch now, stretching out on top...

"Oh god!" he exclaimed, as he felt his own traitorous body responding to these thoughts. He got up out of the chair and stalked off to his room.

"Sherlock?" Violet called, wondering what he had reacted to.

Sherlock had heard her and thought to himself, _don't talk, don't breathe, don't be around me when I'm trying to concentrate! There's only one thing for this_, he thought: _a cold shower_. He undressed quickly, got into the shower stall and turned the shower on, gasping at the cold water piercing his skin. He rested his forehead against the tiled wall and closed his eyes. Naturally he only thought about Violet.

_Violet - as she lay on the couch on her back, looking up at him. He sat next to her and bent over her as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer to her, and whispering "Sherlock". He let his hand drift down her side, then lifting up the sheer fabric of her blouse, he gently caressed the outline of her breast, while bringing his mouth to hers_...

He opened his eyes.

_Clearly this was not going to work_.

He turned on the hot tap and waited til the water went warm. He was going to have to deal with this himself.

* * *

Violet sighed and sat up crossing her legs under her this time. Sherlock emerged from the kitchen area vigorously rubbing his hands through his hair.

"That's better," he exclaimed.

"Have you just had a shower?" Violet asked him, after noticing his hair was wet.

"Yes, helps me to think," he replied walking over to his desk, and avoiding eye contact with her. If he looked at her, he reasoned, she would immediately sense that he had been masturbating in the shower while thinking about her.

"You know, you could take that up to your room and read where you're more com..." he stopped and looked at her.

"Are you crying?!" he demanded. _Again!_

Violet wiped the tears from her eyes and said, "No," then, laughing, she added, "It's just so..."

Sherlock walked over to her, forgetting about his potential embarrassment for now.

"...pathetic? Badly written?"

"Familiar," she finished.

"What's so familiar to you that would be in her diary?" he asked, sitting down on the coffee table in front of Violet. "A crush on your English teacher? Hating girls named Brianna and Courtney? Or the occasional suicidal thought?"

Violet looked at Sherlock for a moment, then looked down at the diary and blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away.

"You know, crying over her won't help her."

He stood up and walked back to his desk.

"We're missing something."

At long last, Violet had regained her composure, got up from the couch and went over to the wall again.

"What are these bits you've added?" she asked.

"From her waste paper basket. Random words, probably from a note."

Violet read them, then frowned, thinking.

"These look like words from an activity we had to do in English once," she began. "We had to read a poem, then circle the abstract nouns."

She frowned again.

"I'm sure these are the same words," she muttered to herself.

Violet starting reciting a poem, pointing to each of the words on the wall in turn as she spoke them. Sherlock slowly looked up.

"What are you doing?" he asked, moving over to her from behind the table.

"It's a poem."

"Say it again," he had lowered his voice and was staring at Violet rather intensely as she recited it once more. He looked at her momentarily then stated, "Rubbish! I hate poetry."

He stalked back to the table, obviously unimpressed.

"It was one of my favourites," continued Violet, not really caring that Sherlock wasn't listening. She was tired from a long day, and a long train journey back from Manchester. All she wanted to do was lie down on Sherlock's couch and listen to him tell her about one of his cases in his deep, soothing voice while she closed her eyes.

She yawned.

"Cooper Arwen."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock looked up at her.

"The poet. Cooper Arwen. He..."

Suddenly she looked concerned, "Sherlock!"

"Never heard of him." Not that Sherlock had heard of any poets.

"Sherlock! He wasn't famous for his poetry - his was famous because he went to prison for the statutory rape of his 15 year old student."

Sherlock straightened up and watched as Violet made her way across the room to the fireplace. She grabbed Sherlock's notebook from the remaining armchair and sat down with it. Sherlock slowly walked over to her, then stood behind her as she searched for Cooper Arwen.

"There. Convicted in '62. She was his student at the time. She..."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sherlock. A hard glint came to his eyes. He started pacing the room. "She thought she was clever!" He strode over to the coffee table and picked up the diary. "She wasn't clever at all! It's all here in her diary. The affair!"

He started flipping through the pages.

"But she stopped writing about her teacher in February," said Violet catching on, "That was months ago. She'd lost interest."

"Did she?"

Sherlock turned a couple of pages over.

"Here:_ I told Mr Merlot he looks hot toda_y. Then here," he turned over a few more pages, "_Mr Merlot stared at me today_. Then here..." He turned the diary over and showed Violet a page full of love hearts. He continued turning pages. "_I hate school. School is for deadbeats_. Next: _Brianna is a mole and needs a good fuck. _Then..." He showed Violet another page full of love hearts. "Nothing in the rest of the diary about Merlot," he finished, flipping through the rest of the pages, catching the odd page of love hearts throughout.

"You think she started drawing love hearts every time she and Merlot got together?"

"Well, either that or she was just bored."

He put the diary down and walked over to his desk.

"But put that together with this..." Sherlock picked up a photo, one of the new ones John had brought back, and passed it to Violet.

"A picture of her bookshelf?"

"Exactly. Her bookshelf, in her bedroom. Look at the volumes," he pointed to the middle of the photograph. "A lovely series called _Jennifer and the Bitches of Eastwick_, volumes 1 through 16, only number 12 is missing and has been replaced by _David Copperfield_. And here..." He pointed to another shelf, _The Secret Life of Ariel_, volumes 1 to 10, with number 6 missing and replaced with _A Christmas Carol_. It seems Francis and Merlot were exchanging literature. Now if only we could get a look inside his flat."

"Swapping books, why?"

"Maybe they were passing love notes - I don't know," Sherlock answered.

Sherlock strode back over to the table, and picked up his phone.

"I'll ring Lestrade. See if he can get a search warrant. Highly unlikely with this evidence though."

"Seems a bit far-fetched," Violet commented.

"All the evidence appears to be irrelevant and insignificant," Sherlock replied, with his phone to one ear, "But once you string them all together... Ah, Detective Inspector..."

He walked off through the kitchen talking to Lestrade while Violet looked back at the notebook and continued reading about the conviction of the poet.

Shortly Sherlock returned. "Nope, he said he can't go to the Commissioner with that evidence."

He narrowed his eyes. "We'll just have to do it ourselves."

"Do what?"

"Enter Merlot's flat."

"Illegally?"

"No, by knocking on the door and selling cookies." He frowned and looked at Violet, "Do you have a girl guide's uniform by any chance?"

* * *

Violet was slowly washing the tea cups and saucers. Sherlock was typing away on his notebook and frowning. Violet yawned.

She was glad Sherlock had dismissed the girl guide thing almost as soon as he had suggested it. And no, she didn't own such a uniform. She thought, _hoped__, _Sherlock had been joking anyway.

"And what if he doesn't have those books on his shelf?" Violet asked, turning to look at Sherlock while she dried the cups with a tea towel.

"We'll look through his diary and see if he's written anything cryptic about the girl," Sherlock replied without looking up. He was sitting back on his grey armchair which he had repositioned in front of the fireplace.

"How do you know he keeps a diary?"

"Because he's an English teacher. All English teachers keep a diary or journal of some sort."

Violet smiled.

"No they don't."

"Why do you say that?" he asked, still without looking up.

"Because I fucked my English teacher and he never wrote about us in anything."

Sherlock stopped typing to look at Violet.

She smiled.

"I'm joking."

She turned back to the kitchen and put the cups away on the shelf above the bench.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning." She draped the tea towel over one of the kitchen chairs.

Violet walked through the living room, out through the door, and up the steps while Sherlock continued to stare at her.

_Fuckin'_

_Hell_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"No, I haven't yet. Don't even say that! He doesn't even know I exist..."

Violet spun around as she heard the front door click shut behind her.

"Oh good, you're back."

It was Sherlock.

And Violet prayed that he hadn't heard the end of her conversation with Mandi while she was standing on the pavement outside 221.

She smiled at him. He eyed her suspiciously.

"Hang on Mandi - I have to go. I'll ring you back later." She ended the call.

"Yes, all done. You had so many cheques to deposit, it's a wonder half of them haven't been cancelled," she blurted out, nervously. _Why was she nervous? _she thought.

"Well I'm about to go to Scotland Yard. Lestrade had a patrol go to the college to check that Merlot was in class today. We should be able to go over to his house when he finishes school - assuming he'll go back there. If he doesn't, an unmarked car will follow him in case he and Francis are shacked up somewhere else."

"You still haven't told me what we're going to do when we get there."

"I have a plan."

"Which is?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Let's see - it's 11 now, so I'll come back here and pick you up around 2.30. Should be enough time to get across town to his house when school finishes. Lestrade will ring if it looks like he's not going back there."

He smiled, turned and left Violet in the street while he hailed a cab. She turned back to the flat, unlocked the door, and went inside to do some filing while nervously waiting for this afternoon to come around.

* * *

In the taxi ride across town Sherlock had refused to tell Violet his plan. He said he needed to scout the area first. She had a feeling he didn't actually have a plan.

"Okay, stop here please, Cabbie", Sherlock requested as they turned a corner. He paid the driver while Violet looked around at the terraced houses.

"Which is it?" she asked.

"Back there, around the corner," Sherlock replied, getting out.

Violet followed, asking, "So what are we going to do?"

Sherlock walked along the street for a few metres. Violet followed him.

"Sherlock?"

He stopped at an alleyway.

"This alley runs behind the houses. Merlot's house is the third one along."

"And?" Violet asked, getting impatient.

"I'll wait in the alley while you knock on his door," Sherlock replied, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?"

"Well he won't talk to me," Sherlock said, looking slightly annoyed, "People don't like to tell me things. But you..."

He stopped, taking in her confused face.

"People like talking to you. And you're, you know..." He gestured something like an hourglass figure with his hands.

Violet got very upset at this point.

"Are you kidding me? You want me to... flirt with this guy?"

Sherlock whispered loudly, "I just want you to get a look inside his house. At his books, more importantly. Now's not the time to be a feminist. Just..."

He motioned with his hands for her to get going. Violet was speechless. She couldn't believe Sherlock wanted her to do this. But in the back of her mind she thought Sherlock was right. She'd have a better chance of getting into the flat than he did. She backed away from Sherlock, then went to turn to walk down the street when Sherlock took a couple of steps toward her and grabbed her arm.

"Just... be careful. I'll be in the alleyway, so I'll hear you scream if you have to."

"That's comforting. Thanks."

"I'm serious," he said, frowning and still holding her arm. "I'll give you 20 minutes, and then I'm coming in. Okay?"

Violet swallowed. "Okay."

He let go of her arm, and walked toward the alleyway. Violet turned and continued to the corner. She stopped for a moment, her own plan forming in her mind. She stopped at a wooden fence, then sat down on the edge of the pavement, leaning her back against the wooden palings. Her heart was pounding.

_My god, this is like getting ready to go out on stage. It's no wonder I need a moment._

She brought her legs up and hugged them, then rested her head on her knees, breathing deeply. She thought about Jake's news that he was getting a divorce. A divorce now, when he had never been able to leave his wife for her when they were together. She thought about her mother, a person she couldn't even remember, who was just an image, an idea, a fantasy inside her head. She thought about Nick - who was supposed to be her soulmate, but just couldn't climb out of his permanent alcohol-infused hole.

Then she thought about Sherlock. Sherlock the... what was a good word to describe him? A computer? Void of all emotion? She'd never have him like she wanted. He just wasn't like that. And feeling that, she felt helpless. She wanted him, but she could never have him. She felt so alone.

By this time, she was crying silently. Sobbing in fact. She wiped some tears away, _but not too many_, she thought.

_There, that should do it. _

_I'm ready no_w.

Tears still rolling down her cheeks, she approached the house. She knocked on the door, then waited, listening for footsteps. The door opened, and there stood Mr Merlot. Violet, of course, recognised him from the television interview.

"Yes?" he asked, looking puzzled at this attractive-looking girl on his doorstep who was clearly upset.

"Matthew?" she asked in between sobs.

She at least remembered what his first name was.

"Yes, who are you?"

Violet looked nervously back down the street before whispering, "Just tell me she's okay."

Her eyes implored him for an answer.

"What?"

"F-Francis. Is she okay?"

"I don't know what you're..." he began, taking a step backwards and making as if to close the door.

"She said she'd email me after you'd made sure she was in a safe place."

Violet then took a risk, thinking he was going to shut the door on her any second now. She stepped over the threshold and almost lunged at the poor man, pulling him into a hug.

"Please say she's all right, please Matthew, tell me Frankie's okay," she whispered into his ear.

He froze, then gently pushed her back, and she dropped her arms.

"Look, just come in," he said reluctantly, moving aside and gesturing to the sitting room just off the entranceway. He shut the door behind her and walked past her into the room.

_Oh my god, look at all the fuckin' bookshelves!_

She decided to start a new stream of fresh tears.

"Is she okay?"

He nodded ever so slightly, so Violet took that as an invitation to hug him again while she quickly scanned the bookshelves.

"Oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She started sobbing into his chest, clutching at his shirt. "Matthew" awkwardly patted her back.

Violet pulled away saying, "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," and making a point of looking at her hands and touching her nose, hoping he'd get the message that she had shed tears and snot all over his shirt.

"I'll ... um... ", he began, backing away from her.

_Get me a fuckin' tissue. _

"... g-get you a tissue," he stammered.

_Thank you!_

He walked through a side door while Violet, slightly panicky by now at the sight of all the books, started scanning each shelf.

_Where the fuck are you, Charles Dickens._

She had scanned about half the shelves when she heard Merlot coming back down the passageway. Violet quickly returned to roughly the position she was in when he had left, but she had turned around as if to admire a painting on the wall.

"Sorry, I only have dunny paper," he remarked, as Violet turned back around. He held out a few sheets of toilet paper to her.

"Thanks," she said, not looking up. She blew her nose rather loudly, while Matthew Merlot awkwardly looked away.

_He's so young_, she thought.

"Didn't Frankie tell you she'd been asking my advice?"

Violet thought she'd go in deeper. She needed more time.

"No. Who are you?"

Violet looked aghast. "Cynthia. Her cousin."

He shook his head.

"Could you tell her to email me?"

Violet's face then dissolved in tears again at the thought of her "lost cousin".

_Time for a panic attack._

"She hates them, we both hate them! I told her to run away with you and I got so scared when she stopped emailing me and no one knew where'd she'd gone."

Violet bent over double. She couldn't breathe. She gasped, then coughed, and coughed...

"Are you all right? I'll get you a... water." Merlot sprinted off through the side door.

_ There's a good lad._

Violet "coughed" a few more times while quickly walking over to the remaining bookshelves.

_ Come on, come on, where are you? _

_Bingo!_

There nestled in between _Oliver Twist_ and _The Pickwick Papers_ was "Bitches" volume 12.

_Matthew Merlot you naughty boy_.

Violet sat down on Merlot's sofa with her head in her hands.

_I didn't really need to see the books anyway. He as good as admitted to me that he was with her. Now for an exit plan. Hope I don't have to scream._

Although the thought of Sherlock bursting through the door to "rescue" her was an odd turn on.

Merlot returned.

"Here."

He handed her a glass of water. Violet gulped it down.

"Thank you. I feel really embarrassed," she said, putting the glass down on a side table.

"Um, don't be."

_You're not very eloquent for an English teacher_, she thought. She stood up.

"I'd better go. I'm so sorry to have just showed up."

"Don't worry."

_Jesus Christ, what did she see in this guy?_

"Thanks... bye!"

_Please let me leave_.

"Oh."

He walked over to the entrance and opened the door for her. Violet patted him on the arm, then left, quite relieved to feel the fresh air on her tear-stained face. She resisted the urge to sprint down the street, but walked very calmly to the corner, around which she then preceded to run.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" she rounded the corner to the alleyway, almost colliding with him.

"What! What happened?" Sherlock grabbed both her arms. She was obviously upset and had been crying.

"What did he do to you?" he demanded, "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, nothing, he..."

"I'll thump him, where is he?"

"Sherlock!" Violet put both her hands on either side of Sherlock's face to direct his attention to her. "I'm fine." She looked into his eyes. "I'm okay. They're not real."

"What?"

"I'll tell you in a minute."

She took her hands away, and Sherlock let go of her arms.

"You have to ring Lestrade now, because if Matthew goes back to Francis, he'll tell her what just happened, then they'll panic and run."

"What just happened?" _Matthew?_

"Just ring Lestrade! They have to be ready to follow him!"

"Tell me what happened!" Sherlock grabbed her arms again.

"Now, Sherlock!"

He looked at Violet, blinked, then let go of her arms. He took his phone out of his pocket. Violet breathed a sigh of relief.

"Lestrade, it's me. Could you get your boys to follow Merlot again, we think he's going to bolt... Yes I know you told me not to, but we just happened to be in the area..."

Sherlock listened to what was obviously a tirade of abuse, then replied, "Oh, Lestrade, one more thing. Could you please give us a lift?"

* * *

They sat in silence for a while in the back of Detective Inspector Lestrade's car.

"Gregson's team are following him and it looks like he's heading east out of the city. We'll follow, but not as closely."

"Fine, Detective Inspector," said Sherlock, looking out of the window.

"He's really young, you know," said Violet quietly to Sherlock.

"What? Oh. So?"

Violet looked slightly annoyed with Sherlock, so he added, "The law exists to protect minors..."

"I know, I know! It's not like he's a criminal mastermind out to entrap young girls. He fell in love with her, that's all. He must be about 21 or so. His first year of teaching. He's younger than me, Sherlock. His life will be ruined."

She stared out of the window.

Sherlock couldn't believe he was about to enter into this conversation. "He's abused his position as her teacher. The law states that..."

"Fuck the law, Sherlock!"

Lestrade looked at them both in the rearview mirror.

"And she's too young to..." Sherlock began again.

"It wasn't so long ago that I was a 15 year old girl and in love, Sherlock. I don't dismiss what I felt back then so easily."

Sherlock scoffed and looked out of the window.

"My boyfriend was 16," Violet added, softly.

"Oh God," muttered Sherlock, banging his forehead against the passenger window.

"Did you run away together?" asked Lestrade grinning and glancing at Violet through the rearview mirror.

"We were going to. His father was an abusive alcoholic."

"So what stopped you?" Sherlock turned to look at her.

"One day we skipped school so we could...you know..."

Sherlock cringed.

"...So we went to his house. His dad worked late and we thought we had the place to ourselves for a while. But his dad got laid off and spent all afternoon at the pub. When he got home we were there ... on the couch. So... um, I thought he'd go mental, but he didn't. He just quietly told my boyfriend to take me home."

"So then what happened?" asked Lestrade. He was enjoying this.

"That was the last I saw of him then. He never showed up at school. I went round to his house a few days later and they were gone. There was a To Let sign in the window."

"And you never raised the alarm?" asked Sherlock, suspiciously.

Violet scowled at Sherlock.

"I tried to tell people what I thought had happened, but they all just thought I was a hysterical 15 year old girl, who couldn't cope with the fact that her boyfriend had just dumped her."

"So you don't know what happened to him?" asked Lestrade.

"I bumped into him at a party a few years later."

"Huh," commented Sherlock.

"What did he say?" asked Lestrade.

"His dad did lay into him. Knocked him unconscious. He panicked when he saw blood trickling out of his ear, so he drove and drove until about Beechwood, I think. He took him to a hospital there and said his son had been jumped by thugs."

"And that's it?" asked Lestrade.

"No, when he came to, my boyfriend told them that his dad did it. The police went looking for him. Then his dad, while drunk, drove his car into a tree trying to get away from the cops. He died instantly."

"Well, that's justice for you!" commented Lestrade. "And what became of your boyfriend after this 'happy' ending?"

"He became an abusive alcoholic and I broke up with him 3 months ago," replied Violet, looking back out of the window.

_Nick_.

Sherlock stared at Violet for a few seconds, before saying quietly, "It's a good thing you didn't run off with him then!"

Violet chose to ignore him and stared out of the window for about 45 minutes, only half listening to the conversation between Sherlock and Lestrade when they started talking about past cases.

"Okay, he's turning off the main road, so Gregson's guys are gonna continue past so they don't look suspicious. They'll wait for back up. We can stop in Greenville if you like. Stretch the legs a bit," Lestrade informed them as he got off his police radio.

As soon as Lestrade had parked the car, Violet made her way into the village pub in search of the bathroom. Sherlock remained outside, chatting with Lestrade and the publican who was watering his hyacinths on the outdoor tables. Violet emerged from the pub, and went for a walk towards an oval where several school boys were playing soccer. She sat on one of the benches that overlooked the green. She checked her phone for messages, but was annoyed to find that she had no signal.

Soon Sherlock walked over to join her. He sat down on the bench and silently offered Violet a minty.

"Thanks," she said as she took one.

"How old do you think they are?" she asked Sherlock, indicating the boys on the oval.

"Oh, about 12," he answered.

There was silence, then Violet asked, "What were you like as a 12 year old boy?"

"Obnoxious," Sherlock answered with a smile, and turned to look at Violet.

She smiled back at him. "Of course you were."

They sat there for quite a few mintues, watching the boys play.

"Sherlock!" called Lestrade. "They're moving in! Let's go!"

Violet and Sherlock quickly joined Lestrade at the car.

"Gregson and his team have spotted Francis. She looks all right. She was helping Merlot get some shopping out of his car. Gregson's moving in now. Her parents are on their way."

"You okay?" Sherlock asked Violet as the car sped along the highway.

Violet shrugged. She didn't know what to think. She was about to break up a relationship. One that was really none of her business. And one that would involve one of the participants going to prison.

When they got to the small cottage in the woods, the drama was already underway. The police were questioning Merlot inside, and outside, in an ambulance, Francis was being counselled. Sherlock and Violet watched from a distance as Lestrade went inside the cottage.

"Well, this is fucked up," murmured Violet, more to herself than Sherlock but he replied anyway, "She's where she needs to be. In the care of those who have her best interests at heart."

Violet sighed.

They watched as another police vehicle pulled up and Francis' parents got out. Her mother ran towards the ambulance just as the police from the cottage were escorting Merlot out.

"I love you!" Francis called out to him.

Francis' mother came into her view at that point.

"No! I HATE YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M NEVER GOING TO LIVE WITH YOU - I'D RATHER KILL MYSELF THAN LIVE WITH YOU!"

And on and on it went.

Violet left Sherlock and walked back to the edge of the police vehicles away from the cottage, and the hysteria.

Sherlock turned around and walked after her. She was visibly upset, but trying hard not to cry. Sherlock stopped in front of her, then put his arms gently on hers and slowly pulled her into an embrace. Violet cried quietly into Sherlock's chest for a few minutes as he gently rubbed her back.

After a while, she pulled away, saying, "I want to go now. Can we go?"

"Just stay here for a minute. I'll work something out," he said softly.

Sherlock walked over to where Lestrade now stood talking to Gregson. He spoke with them for a few minutes, then Lestrade called a young detective over.

"Constable, could you please escort Mr Holmes and Ms Hunter back to the city."

They drove in relative silence. Sherlock tried hard not to strangle the young detective who had turned up the volume on the radio when Thaley Donaldson, the new pop princess, warbled out "8 new tracks from her debut album _Sunshine_".

"Baker Street, was it sir?" the constable asked as they drew nearer to the city center.

"Yes thank you, constable," replied Sherlock, feeling relieved.

"Can you pull over just here please?" Violet pleaded.

Sherlock looked over at her.

"Here miss?" queried the detective.

"Just here, now, please. I need to get out."

Violet took off her seatbelt.

"Violet, what are you doing, we're miles away," said Sherlock.

"I need to get out. I need some air," she said, opening the door as soon as they'd stopped.

"Don't wait for me!" she ordered, and proceeded to walk up the street.

"That'll do here just fine thanks, Constable. We'll walk from here," Sherlock said, as he also alighted.

"Violet!" He caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

She stopped.

"Just don't, Sherlock, okay? I ... need a drink."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I'd love some feedback, so if you've got any comments at all I'd love to hear them. I've pretty much got the complete story in my head.

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Enjoy!

x

**Chapter 7 **

"You don't need this. Come home with me. We'll have a ... a nice cup of tea."

Sherlock spoke as gently as possible to Violet who was clearly seething.

She looked at him, incredulously. "You just don't get it do you? Just one drink, Sherlock. Just one, to bring this shitty night to an end. You can buy me one, can't you? At least do that for me!"

He sighed and looked down at the pavement. It had been a long day, which had obviously taken its toll on Violet. She was tired and emotional. He got it. And he desired to make the day a little better for her.

"Okay, just one," he said resignedly. And in spite of himself, he reach out to take her hand, but she had spun on her heels and stalked off in the direction of the nearest pub. Sherlock jogged after her, but she was waiting for him anyway at the entrance to The Oldham.

"This will do," she said to him as he joined her.

"Here? Seems a bit noisy," he responded as the thump, thump, thump of the DJ's hot pick hit the streets as the door opened to let in a couple before them.

"It's Monday night, Sherlock. There will hardly be anyone in there."

"You should at least eat first."

"They have peanuts!"

Violet walked toward the door. Just then, Sherlock's phone rang.

"Wait a minute. It's Lestrade - I should get this."

He answered his phone, but Violet had opened the door to the bar and disappeared inside.

Scowling, Sherlock spoke to Lestrade, "Yes? What is it?"

He listened for a bit, then replied, "You know I like to keep things anonymous, Lestrade. We'll just skip the press briefing tomorrow morning if you don't mind."

He listened again, rolling his eyes, then said, "Yes, keep me updated..."

He shot a look of annoyance over at the nightclub door while listening impatiently to Lestrade. "Yes I'll tell her. Thank you, good night!"

He ended the call, then frowning as he remembered that Violet had gone in ahead of him, he entered the bar.

He hated this. Hated bars, hated the clientele, the smokey atmosphere - even though smoking had been banned - the lighting always made him feel like there was still smoke in the air. He rubbed his nicotine patch absentmindedly. He spied Violet over at the bar. There was only one other patron at the other end of the bar, and a smattering of people at tables here and there. But for the most part, the nightclub was pretty empty. As he approached, the bartender nodded at Sherlock as he removed an empty glass and began to wash it. Violet turned around as he got closer. In front of her were no less than four shot glasses.

"I thought you said one drink?"

"Two of these are for you."

She pushed two of the shot glasses across to Sherlock as he joined her. He looked startled.

"I'm not drinking alone, Sherlock."

She lifted a glass to her lips, then chucked it back. She slammed the glass back down on the bar and looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock gulped his down in one go, placed the glass on the bar, and looked back at Violet. She smiled, and picked up the second glass.

"Together," she said, raising her shot glass at Sherlock.

As they both finished and replaced their glasses onto the counter, Sherlock said, "Done? Let's go."

"Um, no. You can buy me that drink now," said Violet slyly.

"What? You said one drink!" Sherlock responded, incredulously.

"I said YOU can buy me one drink. I bought these. Your shout!"

She went to turn away from the bar then said in a loud whisper, "I'll go get us a table!"

Sherlock was stunned for a minute. Then he shouted over the noise, "What drink?"

She turned around and mouthed "Surprise me!" with a mischievous look on her face.

"Well at least her mood has picked up," Sherlock thought to himself. Just one drink then I'm dragging her bodily out of here.

"One scotch whiskey please, plus a scotch and coke. And just..." he leaned forward to the bartender a bit "... just make that one half strength."

The bartender grinned as he poured the drinks and shook his head.

"What?" asked Sherlock quizzically.

The bartender laughed as he said, "Your girlfriend said you might try to tell me to do that and she told me not to."

"What?" Sherlock spun around to look at Violet. She was smiling and she gave him a little wave from her table. Sherlock scowled and paid the bartender. He brought the drinks over to Violet.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" he said sulkily as he sat down beside her on the vinyl couch. She grinned at him and held up her glass.

"Here's to cleverness then."

Sherlock reluctantly tapped his glass to hers and took a sip.

Violet put her glass down after sipping it and leaned back into the couch, closing her eyes.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked.

She nodded. "Just soaking up the atmosphere."

"We're not exactly at the seaside, you know."

Violet smiled, eyes still closed. Sherlock reached out to his glass, and slowly started turning it.

"Lestrade said that..." he began, but Violet shushed him.

"Don't talk about it. Don't say their names, don't tell me what's happening now. I don't want to hear about it for the rest of my life. Okay?" she opened her eyes and stared at him. Sherlock slowly nodded. Violet then brightened. She sat up and turned her body towards Sherlock, their knees almost touching under the table.

"Do you like bars, Sherlock?" she inquired, taking another sip of her drink and staring intently at him.

"No."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"So when was the last time you were in a bar?"

He thought for a moment, then looked down at his drink. "Three weeks ago."

"That's not so long ago. Three weeks, huh? And which of our city's lowlife criminals was hiding out in a bar?"

"I... wasn't on a case," Sherlock replied, taking another sip.

"What were you on?" Violet asked, smiling sweetly.

She knows, Sherlock thought, feeling slightly panicky. He turned his gaze to her.

"Why do you like bars so much?" He thought he ought to take the attention off himself for a bit.

"I like to hang out with my friends. It's fun," she replied, her eyes still sparkling.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Should there be more?" she countered. She appeared to be teasing him.

"Don't..." he waved at her, ".. your lot like to ... hook up?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"My lot? Oh, you mean young women with buxom figures? You think because I look like this that I like to fuck my way around London bars, Sherlock?" Violet was still smiling sweetly, but her eyes took on a dangerous look. Sherlock returned her gaze and refused to look away.

"The answer's 'No', Sherlock. I don't do casual sex. I dont ... 'hook up'."

She dropped her gaze and took another sip of her drink. They drank in silence for a few minutes, both of them occasionally looking at the other patrons scattered around the bar.

"Huh," said Sherlock, looking at a couple in the corner. "He's married and she's his mistress. Look." Violet looked over to where Sherlock was indicating. They watched the couple who were arguing for a bit.

Sherlock began telling Violet about a couple of his cases that involved jealous wives or jealous husbands. She was particularly intrigued by the one who had her lover's ear delivered to her in a cardboard box. Violet enjoyed listening to Sherlock's deep voice as he recounted his cases. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the couch half-listening to his words, but mostly thinking about other things. Things she wanted to do with Sherlock. She felt a warm sensation rush through her body as the alcohol began taking effect.

He had stopped talking.

Violet opened her eyes and looked thoughtfully at Sherlock.

"Do you have sex, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was taken aback. He turned to stare back at the couple in the corner.

"Sometimes," he replied, hoarsely.

Violet didn't know what answer to expect, but she got butterflies in her stomach when he had said that.

He turned to look at her. She was staring at him, curiously.

"With who?"

"People."

"People?"

"Women."

Violet looked into his eyes - his grey cold eyes. She gazed up at his black moppy curls on his forehead. She had the sudden urge to run her hands through his curly hair.

"What women?" she asked, her attention back to his eyes.

He gestured to the general bar area, then slowly took another sip of his drink.

"Women in bars?"

Sherlock turned back to look at her. She gave him a huge smile, her eyes dancing.

"Sherlock Holmes, " she began slowly, "the world's greatest detective," she picked up her drink, "... picks up women in bars."

She saluted him with her drink, and promptly finished the rest of it. She put the glass back down on the table and leaned closer to Sherlock, her knee brushing against his under the table.

"Tell me, how do you do it?" she propped her elbow up on the table, and rested her chin on her hand.

"It's not a joke," said Sherlock, looking insulted.

"I wasn't..." she began, but Sherlock interrupted her with a question of his own.

"How many drinks does it take?" he asked, as it began to dawn on him that she was getting slightly tipsy.

"Take to what?" she straightened up, frowning.

"Does it take to get you so drunk you forget what you've done the next day?"

"Oh that again," she smiled. "I don't know..."

"Well, hazard a guess," he said softly, "You're moderately intelligent - you must have some idea."

Violet put her hand around her empty glass, thinking.

"Maybe 6... 7?"

"So, tonight you've had... two shots, and this one, and..." began Sherlock.

"So that's three."

"Plus the one you had before I came in," he finished. "So that's four."

She smiled at him. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"Me? Not notice? Me of all people?" He looked down at her condescendingly. "The bartender was taking your empty glass away as I came in," he smiled back at her.

He stood up and did up the button on his jacket.

"Well, you're finished, so let's go."

"No," she leaned back and crossed her arms.

"Violet you've had enough. Now let's go." He put his hands in his pockets and frowned at her.

"No," she said again, firmly. "By your ... calculations, and mine, I can have at least one more."

She stared up at Sherlock, feeling rather smug.

And rather drunk.

He looked down at the ground and sighed. Looking back up at her he said, "All right. One more. What do you want?"

"The same as the mystery first drink. Ask the bartender," she smiled at him.

"I'm just going to the bathroom first."

She watched him as he walked to the back of the nightclub. Violet sighed. She felt very happy and so very excited. Sherlock Holmes has sex, although she was in two minds about that. On the one hand, that gave her a bit of hope that he could possibly be attracted to her, on the other, the fact that he's been having sex with other women meant that those other women got to have him. His attention was on them.

_The others._

_ The anonymous faces. _

_The anonymous bodies. _

_Naked bodies. _

_Naked bodies touching Sherlock's naked body. _

"Hello there!"

Violet's happy thoughts were rudely interrupted by a rough looking chap wearing a baseball cap and a dopey grin.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, Sherlock had returned from the bathroom, ordered the drinks and had turned around to look at Violet while he was waiting for the drinks to get poured. He saw a dishevelled looking man talking to her. She was smiling at the man pleasantly and looked quite happy chatting to him. Then she indicated Sherlock, and the man turned to look at him. The man saluted Sherlock, nodded to Violet and went on his merry way. Violet looked at Sherlock and beamed. He turned back to the bar, retrieved the drinks and made his way over to her.

"I can't leave you alone for a second before you're getting hit on by the rest of the bar," he said, grinning.

"It must be that casual sex look about me," Violet answered facetiously.

Sherlock shot her a look.

"So what did he say?" asked Sherlock, narrowing his eyes at her.

"He said, 'Blah blah blah blah blah' while staring at my breasts. Who knows what he said? They're all the same. The words don't matter."

Once again Violet raised her glass, but this time she said, "To casual sex."

Sherlock didn't toast her this time, but scowled and looked away.

"You were going to tell me about how you pick up chicks," Violet asked, putting her glass down after she sipped from it.

"I wasn't going to do any such thing."

They sat in silence again, quietly sipping their drinks and looking around. Violet smiled to herself, then asked, "So do you just walk up to them and hit them with a one-liner like our friend here? Do you have a bag of tricks?"

"Oh this again," sighed Sherlock. "I don't have 'one-liners'."

"What do you say then?"

Sherlock could see that there was no getting out of this conversation, and after four drinks himself, he was starting to feel a bit relaxed about discussing this topic with Violet. And almost in a mood to show off.

"Well you know me, you know my methods, work it out," he challenged.

"Your methods?" she queried, "Your 'powers of deduction'?"

"Yes."

"How do you apply that to picking up women?"

"What do you think?" he asked, and when he saw that Violet looked confused, he continued, "I watch them; I study them for a few minutes. I can tell what they're like, what things they like, what sort of man they'd be interested in..."

"And?"

"And I act accordingly."

Violet studied him for a moment. "And that works for you?"

"100%".

A wide grin slowly spread across her face.

"Sherlock Holmes, you bad boy!"

She leant across to him and kissed him on the cheek. Then she stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom. Back in a minute - then we'll play a game!" she added mischievously.

Sherlock sat back, his heart pounding furiously. She was flirting with him. She had made him confess. Now she knew his secret, and she was flirting with him. But why? He tried to recall the whole conversation since they had entered the bar. He tried to read between the lines. Everything she said, everytime she turned to him. He couldn't make any connections. Oh why wasn't his brain making the connections? Then he realised that the alcohol was impairing his ability to think clearly. There wasn't any link, there was no conspiracy, it was just a conversation, and she was getting quite drunk. He had to get her out of there.

Violet returned to the table, looking quite refreshed.

"Now," she said, sitting down and turning to him,"Oh hang on..." She stood up again and glanced around the room. "Okay," she sat down again and continued, "Let's get you laid tonight."

Sherlock was horrified.

"Oh don't look at me like that. It's been three weeks for you. This will be fun."

Sherlock stammered, "I don't need... I don't want to..."

"Oh, shush, I'll be your wing-man."

"What?"

"Now, who would you choose? Take your time," she smiled at him.

Sherlock stared at her, and then said, quite angrily, "I don't want to choose. I don't want you to be my ... wing-man. I'm not interested in picking up!"

Violet looked at him, her smile fading, "I've embarrassed you."

She suddenly moved closer to him and put one hand on his arm which had been resting on the table, holding his glass, and put her other arm around his shoulders. She leaned closer to him, and whispered,"I'll leave okay? You don't have to do this when I'm here. I'll just go, and you can get on with your... thing."

Sherlock smiled to himself. This was getting oh so stupid. He thought he'd play along with this little dialogue before dragging her out of here, and also he was enjoying Violet touching him for the moment.

"I can't pick up tonight. I'm not wearing my other coat," he said simply.

"What other coat?"

"My black coat, hanging on the back of my living room door. Haven't you seen it?"

Violet still had her arm around Sherlock's shoulders, and her other hand resting on his drinking hand.

"I don't know that one. Why do you need to be wearing that one?"

Without thinking she started to caress his hand.

"Because it reminds me to not be myself," he replied quietly, looking down at their hands, excitement mounting inside him.

"Why don't you want to be yourself?" Violet asked, sadly.

"Because who would want me?"

He continued looking down. She had stopped caressing his hand. He slowly looked up at her, when she didn't say anything. She was studying his face, her face only inches from his.

Violet was thinking, "Oh my god he doesn't know. He hasn't a clue how wonderful he is, how charming and clever and brooding and... so goddammed sexy."

She leant in, closed her eyes, and kissed him softly on the lips. Then she pulled away a bit, and looked at him, unsure of what his reaction was going to be.

Sherlock's mind had gone numb. What had just happened then? She was looking at him expectantly. He took in her eyes, and her lips, then back to her eyes again. Then he gently brought his hands up to her face and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her softly at first, then parting his lips slightly, he dared to dart his tongue inside her mouth. She responding by parting her lips more and returning his kiss. She put her arms around his neck and entwined her fingers through his hair. Sherlock let his arms slide down to Violet's back as he pulled her in tighter and their kiss deepened.

_She wants me_, he thought. _She wasn't just flirting, she wants this. How could I have missed this. Why hasn't she made her feelings known before this? How could he have missed the signals? _

And then the thought hit him.

He abruptly stopped kissing her and pushed her away a bit.

"You're drunk!" he said, staring intently into her eyes.

"Violet!" He put his hands on either side of her face, and studied her eyes.

Violet was slightly dazed - firstly because he'd pulled her off him mid-kiss, and secondly, because was was quite drunk now.

She giggled.

"Sherlock, stop it, you're tickling me!"

He let go of her face and stood up.

"Come on," he reached down to help her up. "We're going. You've had..." he looked at his watch, "... 5 drinks in under two hours, and nothing to eat beforehand. It's really..."

He stopped talking as Violet started to laugh at him. She stood up next to him.

"I'm so naughty!"

"What?" Sherlock asked. He was slightly annoyed.

"Did you ask the bartender to pour me the same drink as the first?"

"Yes?" replied Sherlock, slightly confused.

"Did you ask him what it was?"

"No. Why?"

"Did you watch him pour it?" She giggled.

Sherlock was quite irritated now. "No."

"Oh, Sherlock, both drinks were doubles! You'll have to count again."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Come on, let's get you some fresh air."

Sherlock had grabbed Violet's hand and was leading her out of the bar. Violet was a little bit sullen. She had been enjoying making out with Sherlock, and this sudden change in mood had depressed her.

"Are we going home now?" she asked, sadly.

"No! You need to sober up a bit. I don't want you to forget," he replied, more to himself than to Violet.

"I don't want to sober up. I want you to kiss me again," she said, sulkily.

Then she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sherlock untangled himself.

"Come on Violet. We'll go and sit down in a nice coffee shop, hmmm?"

He'd adopted the tone of talking to a petulant child.

They started walking down the street holding hands with Sherlock looking around for a coffee shop that was still open. The streets were quiet. The Monday night crowd had returned to their homes, and the small number of coffee places and bars that had been open earlier were closed or packing up. For a night out, it was still very early. But it _was_ a week night.

They walked in silence for a while. Sherlock wanted to head in the general direction of Baker Street, but they were still miles from home. He theorized that some fresh air, coffee, and the passage of time were all that was needed to sober Violet up. He didn't mind walking along, holding Violet's hand. She didn't say much, only to complain now and then about her feet hurting, or being tired, or reiterating again that she wasn't drunk.

At long last Sherlock decided it really was time for coffee, but there was not an open coffee shop in sight. Across the road he spied a pie shop. He recognised this particular pie shop, because it was also a front for selling illegal pharmaceuticals. But they still made pretty good coffee, so he lead Violet over to it.

"Here, you sit down, try to sit up, there, that's a good girl," he said as Violet slumped over to the window of the booth.

"I'll go order the coffees."

He walked over to the counter.

"Table service," said a grumpy waitress.

"Thank you!" Sherlock called out, and sat down in the booth in the chair opposite Violet.

Violet folded her arms in front of her and placed them on the table. She rested her head on her arms and murmured, "I'm so tired. Now can you take me home?"

Sherlock reached out and rubbed Violet's arms.

"Just stay awake, Violet."

The waitress came over, pen and pad in hand, and glanced at Violet's slumped form.

"I'm sorry, we don't serve drunks here. You'll have to take her outside," she said, sternly.

"She's not drunk - she's just tired. We have to catch a train at 2am and we're just trying to stay awake until then, right darling?"

He prayed Violet was awake to hear him. To his surprise she sat up and glared at him. Violet turned to the waitress, took a deep breath in and said, "I'll have a flat white with one sugar please, and my boyfriend will have a long black with two sugars, thank you..." she glanced at the waitress's name tag, "...Louise."

Then she smiled.

A big broad fake smile.

The waitress finished jotting down the order and left them.

Violet turned to Sherlock, her smile disappearing. "I'm not drunk, I'm just tired."

"You are drunk."

"Test me on something," she asked him through slitted eyes.

"I'm not giving you a test."

"Ask me something, anything."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and said, "Tell me what happened this evening."

"Which bit?"

"All of it."

Violet leant back in the chair, and began, "I came into the bar first, and ordered a sneaky double vodka. Then I batted my eyelashes at the bartender and told him you would try to order me a half strength drink and could he please ignore that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her.

"Then you came in all grumpy and we had two shots each. You bought me a drink, flirted with me for a bit, bought me another drink, then kissed me."

Sherlock frowned.

"And then you got all boring, and here we are."

"I didn't flirt with you, and you kissed me first."

Violet reached across the table and held one of Sherlock's hands in hers.

"And you're worried I'm going to forget?"

"That's what usually happens with you and alcohol."

Sherlock closed his hand on Violet's and absentmindedly started caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. They gazed at each other until the waitress came back, plonking the coffee cups down in front of them. They moved their hands apart.

"Sugar's on the table," the waitress muttered.

They filled their coffees with sugar and stirred them in silence.

Sherlock wondered why he thought it so important that Violet remember they kissed. He could just take her home. She could go to sleep, wake up the next morning, not remember a thing beyond going to the bathroom at the bar, he could tell her all about the kiss, she would cry about not remembering, then they'd share a case together and all would be back to normal.

Why should he care?

Because she cared.

She cared about him. In the moment that he had felt so vulnerable, after he had revealed his need to hide his true self, she had looked at him, seen through him, and kissed him. And he had kissed her back, and she seemed to like that.

Sherlock stopped stirring his coffee.

Violet interrupted his thoughts.

"How often do you go to bars?"

Sherlock sighed, but didn't answer.

"Once a week, twice? Once a month?"

Sherlock slowly sipped his coffee and replied, "Not often. Usually in between cases, when I'm bored."

"And do you bring them back to Baker Street?"

Violet had the sudden image of Mrs Hudson coming upstairs to empty Sherlock's fridge and encountering a half-naked strange woman sneaking out of Sherlock's bedroom. She started giggling.

Sherlock frowned at her.

"No. We go back to their place... or..." he said quietly.

"Or," repeated Violet, smiling, "... there's an 'or'?"

Violet absentmindedly kept stirring her coffee. She took a sip of it from her teaspoon.

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table, looking at her. Then he ventured, "How about you?"

"Don't change the subject. I want to hear about the 'or'."

Sherlock looked at her for a few seconds, trying to decide whether to tell her or not.

_Might as well, she's gotten this much information out of me already and there's a chance she won't remember the conversation tomorrow._

"Or a car, or an alleyway."

"Oh my god!" Violet exclaimed.

"Shhh!" said Sherlock, angrily.

"An alleyway!"

Violet put her hands over her mouth, trying to stem the laughter. She took them away, looked at Sherlock and mouthed the words, "An alleyway!".

Sherlock was fuming.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

He stood up and fastened the button on his jacket. He left her at the table, giggling to herself.

When he returned, she was looking much more composed. He sat down again at the table and asked, "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

She was drinking her coffee with her teaspoon.

"When was the last time you had sex?" He was staring at her, with his eyes narrowed. It was her turn to reveal all now.

"Well, that would be the last time I had a boyfriend," Violet stated matter-of-factly.

"Which was... three months ago?"

"Yep. That would be right."

Sherlock leaned forward on the table and said slowly, "So why where you so interested in me -getting laid- when you had been without for so much longer?"

Violet smiled. "Because that's your thing, and besides," she said, picking up her teaspoon again, "I can take care of myself."

"Take care of yourself?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"Take _care _of _myself_," Violet reiterated slowly, placing the spoon back in her mouth and raising one eyebrow at Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at her blankly for a moment and then the lights went on.

"Oh."

He looked away from Violet quickly, trying not to visualise Violet _taking care of herself_.

Too late.

He stared out of the window.

Violet again broke the silence. She was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Did you ever properly date?"

"Properly date?"

"Yes, you know, like: boy meets girl, boy and girl go to the movies, boy tries to kiss girl, girl slaps boy, boy apologizes, girl kisses boy, boys meets girl's parents..." Violet smiled.

Sherlock frowned.

"Is that the limit of your experiences," he asked Violet.

"Oh, come on Sherlock. Let's hear about Sherlock Holmes: the University Years."

Sherlock looked out of the window of the pie shop onto the street. He then looked down at his coffee and sighed.

"I dated", he began, looking up at Violet. "I was called an asshole on numerous occasions."

"Why?"

"Can't you work it out? Boy meets girl, boy fucks girl, boy is sick of girl's conversation, so boy fucks girl's best friend. And the cycle starts again. After a while I just realized I wasn't interested in dating, only sex. I was always looking for a way out of each relationship."

Violet was silent as she digested this information. Now she wished she hadn't discovered that Sherlock Holmes Has Sex. She had gotten all her hopes up for nothing. He doesn't date, he doesn't have relationships, and she, Violet Hunter, Does Not Have Casual Sex.

They were incompatible.

Sherlock watched her thinking. And he knew what she was thinking, and with a sinking feeling he suddenly regretted saying any of it.

"Did I pass your test?"

"What?"

"Do you think I'm sober enough for us to go home now?"

Sherlock was distracted for a moment.

"Yes. You are. Let's go then."

Sherlock waited while Violet went to the bathroom first. Then they walked out into the cool night air in silence. They headed towards a busier road, hoping to find a cab.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Violet," he began, "What I said back there, about..."

"There's a taxi!" Violet yelled, making a dash for the curb.

Sherlock sighed, then hurried over to the curb after Violet.

As they reached the cab, Violet turned to him and said, "It's fine."

She smiled, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Violet got into the taxi first, and told the driver, "Baker Street please." As Sherlock got in, he heard the cab's radio announce the news that police had found the missing teenage girl and she was now safe at home with her parents. The news report went on to tell of a as yet unnamed adult male who would be charged under the Sexual Offenses act.

Violet breathed out and clenched her fists. She would not cry in front of Sherlock again.

Sherlock noticed her discomfort and said, "Can you change the station, please cabbie?"

As the cab wove through the city streets, Sherlock gently put his arm around Violet.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. Violet nodded, resting her head on Sherlock's chest. She replied, rather groggily, "I'm fine", then added,"Crying over her isn't going to help her."

Violet slyly looked up at Sherlock, and he grinned down at her. She hoped he would kiss her again, just one more time, even though she resigned herself to not ever having a relationship with him. She continued to stare at him, hoping. Sherlock lifted his free hand and brushed away the strand of hair from her face. He kept his hand there, caressing her, as he slowly brought his lips to hers. Violet closed her eyes and received Sherlock's soft kiss. She parted her lips as he did, and they kissed slowly, feeling the warmth and tenderness of each other and the excitement arising throughout their whole bodies.

Violet tried not to think about what Sherlock had told her in the coffee shop. She only wanted him right now, in the taxi. He could take her right here in the back seat and she wouldn't object.

Sherlock's hand slowly drifted down the side of Violet's body, and back up again, caressing the side of her breast as his kissed her. Violet shivered and let her own hand which had been resting on Sherlock's chest slowly drift down past his stomach, over his belt to his crotch. Sherlock suddenly grabbed her hand, and whispered, "Not here." While his mouth had momentarily moved off hers, he then used it to kiss the side of her neck, and then moved over to kiss behind her ear.

_Oh god_, pleaded Violet, and she brought both of her hands up to tangle themselves in Sherlock's hair. She gently pulled his head away from kissing her neck, so he could resume kissing her on the mouth again. Sherlock kissed Violet more forcibly, his hands now around her waist and pulling her in tightly.

"Baker Street," the cabbie interrupted, causing both Violet and Sherlock to start.

They pulled apart, both in a daze. Sherlock cleared his throat, straightened up, and unwrapped his arms from around Violet.

He said, "221 please."

Violet also sat up straight, smoothed down her top and skirt and turned to face the front again, still breathing heavily, and her heart beating wildly. Her head was spinning. She ran her fingers through her hair, hoping she looked presentable. Sherlock reached over and gently took her hand in his. He paid the driver once they'd pulled up at the curb, and they got out of the cab.

Violet felt slightly disorientated being back at such a familiar place, but with things being so different now. She followed Sherlock as he walked towards the door, retrieving his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open, allowing Violet to enter first. She stood just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do as Sherlock closed and latched the front door. He then turned and stood in front of her, regarding her for a moment. Violet gazed up at him, put her hands up to the lapels on his jacket, and pulled him towards her, her face inclined towards his.

Sherlock kissed her this time with such an urgency and passion that Violet was thrust against the wall of the entrance. In the frenzy that followed, Violet had helped pull Sherlock's jacket from him, and he had managed to hoist Violet's skirt upwards. He then kissed her all over her neck as she pulled at his belt. Then commonsense got the better of him, just at that split second.

"Upstairs!" he hissed.

He grabbed his jacket from the ground as Violet breathlessly pulled her skirt down a little so she could walk properly. Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her along as they quickly walked the few steps through the second doorway at the entrance and over to the bottom of the stairs. Violet found she was much more impatient than Sherlock and she stopped before they ascended the stairs. As Sherlock turned to look at her, she pushed him gently against the wall and was kissing him once again. Sherlock dropped his jacket and grabbed at her waist, pushing her shirt up and caressing her bare skin.

He had no doubt in his mind at this point that this was what he wanted - what she wanted - what he had been yearning for all week. He had to get her upstairs to his flat, now, before...

"Is that you Sherlock?"

A familiar voice drifted along the passageway. Both Sherlock and Violet froze, then as Sherlock took a step away from her, Violet mounted the stairs two at a time, smoothing down her shirt, and her hair simultaneously.

Sherlock had adjusted himself, picked up his jacket and cleared his throat just as Mrs Hudson appeared at the end of the passage.

"Yes Mrs Hudson."

"Oh I heard about the missing girl on the radio. Is everything all right?"

Sherlock remained at the bottom of the stairs, as Violet stopped at the top and peered down at them.

"Yes, she's safe and sound back with her parents now Mrs Hudson. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

Mrs Hudson looked up at Violet, and said rather crossly to Sherlock, "And you dragging a poor young girl all over the countryside, and keeping her up at this hour!"

"Yes Mrs Hudson," commented Sherlock, beginning to ascend the stairs. "Goodnight Mrs Hudson."

"It's just not decent!" she called out as she made her way back down the passage.

_If only you knew just how 'not decent'_, thought Sherlock.

He continued up the stairs, heart beating fiercely, a lump in his throat. Just as he suspected would happen, Violet was standing on the first step of the stairs leading up to her room. She looked unhappy. She watched as he slowly ascended the stairs toward her, then she smiled faintly and said, "We can't do this, Sherlock."

Sherlock dropped his jacket onto the ground and slowly approached her. He gently reached out and took her hands in each of his and said, "Goodnight Ms. Hunter." Then he bent down and kissed her very softly on the lips. He straightened up, and then let go.

"Goodnight Mr. Holmes," Violet replied quietly.

She turned around and went upstairs. Sherlock watched her go, turned and stooped to pick up his jacket, then entered his living room, closing the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Violet woke with a start. Sherlock had been making mad, passionate, unadulterated love to her in the back of the taxi. The taxi had braked suddenly, jolting her out of her dream and back to the chaste solitude of her bedroom.

She smiled satisfyingly, and hugged her pillow as she remembered the night before: not the kissing in the club, or the taxi, or the lustful, pre-sex groping near the staircase with Sherlock; but the goodnight kiss. He had kissed her tenderly, after she had put a damper on their foreplay. He hadn't yelled, sulked, pouted or punched the wall beside her head. He hadn't forced his way on her - into her - demanding what was rightfully his.

He had simply said goodnight, and kissed her gently.

The butterflies in her stomach intensified as she wondered how he felt about her, as he woke up in his grey striped pyjamas with his dark curly locks all tousled. She wished she could just go downstairs to him, to his bedroom - to be completely spontaneous...

How would he feel about her? Would he be annoyed, remembering her constant badgering about revealing his secret night life to her; her incessant mocking and incredulity that he could attract and bed women so effortlessly? Would he think she was a tease? A drunk? Immature?

All of the above?

Violet's happy thoughts had all but dissolved into a cloud of self-doubt and paranoia. She sat up and threw her pillow away from her as if it were the cause of her mood swing.

What am I going to do today? Filing? Fake aloofness towards Sherlock? Baking with Mrs Hudson? Prepare for tonight's rehearsal?

Oh fuck, the rehearsal! It was a first read-through and she hadn't even prepared.  
She was going to sound like a dick.

Violet leaped out of bed, disrobing as she made her way to her ensuite to shower.

It was 10 o'clock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

* * *

Sherlock, on the other hand, had woken slowly feeling quite frustrated. He had dreamt he was walking through Vauxhall Arches, looking for Violet who was always just out of reach; always just around the next dark corner and laughing at him. What was more annoying was that he woke to a morning erection.

It was 5am, and a cold (or warm) shower was called for.

At 5:30, Sherlock was seated at his laptop at the table in the living room, fully dressed in his favourite purple shirt and his black trousers. He was typing quickly as he researched alcohol-related amnesia. He read about blackouts and "brown outs", delayed narrative recall, research on college students, and entheogens (not sure how he ended up there). But nothing, nothing in his research could tell him for sure whether Violet would wake up this morning remembering that they had kissed, and more.

Exasperated, Sherlock stood up and paced the room. He had one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his hair in frustration.

That's it, I'm going to the lab.  
Or the morgue.

He needed to be distracted by something completely different: a cold corpse or a cell culture in a Petri dish should do it.

The thought of seeing Violet today terrified him. He didn't want to see her being all bouncy and chirpy and completely ignorant of what went on last night. Or, worse: sullen and upset because she did remember.

No, she was best to be avoided all together.

He grabbed his blue coat from the back of the door and left.

It was 6:30.

* * *

Violet lay on her bed on her stomach, the script open in front of her.

_Oh where's my damn highlighter pen?_

She remembered she'd put all the writing implements in a new pen holder she'd bought along with the paper sorting trays in an effort to clean up Sherlock's table. She sighed and her stomach grumbled, also reminding her that she hadn't had breakfast.

_Well there's no avoiding it. I'm going to have to see him at some stage._

Sherlock had (kindly?) suggested the other day that she could have the use of his kitchen now that she worked for him, to save her having to climb two flights of stairs every time she needed something.

She brushed her hair, then ran her fingers through it a bit so it looked artfully tousled. Then she took a deep breath and went downstairs.

Well she needn't have bothered. He wasn't there.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from the shelf. She turned around to survey the living room. The wall between the windows was still adorned with the memorabilia from the Francis Carfax case.

Violet sighed.

Then something caught her eye: the single coat on the back of the living room door. The black coat. The horrible hated black coat. At least that's now what she thought of it. She wondered if she'd ever see him use it. Would she be sitting here, in her now favourite armchair hugging the Union Jack cushion, while he happily donned the coat, saying, "Well, goodnight Violet, I'm off to shag some poor unsuspecting slut in an alleyway."

Violet scowled and was immediately angry with Sherlock for being so insensitive in her imaginary scenario.

She turned back to the kitchen and searched all of the cupboards for some cereal.

All empty.

She went to the fridge to check for her yoghurt. Of course it was missing. Anything she had put in there recently went missing. And she knew Sherlock wasn't eating it. He was experimenting with different homemade bait to try to catch the rats in her ceiling. She shuddered, remembering he had said something about rats liking raw meat, and he had fished the frozen (human) fingers out of the freezer. Souvenirs from the morgue.

Violet made her way downstairs. She felt like having some of Mrs Hudson's secret stash of fruit loops.

Loud laughter and conversation flowed up the stairwell, emanating from Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

Damn. The charity bake-off. Violet remembered that was why Mrs Hudson had asked her if she wanted to help with baking today. Oh well, she had slept in and it sounded like Mrs Hudson had more than enough help.

She was right.

Crowded into Mrs Hudson's tiny kitchen and dining room were four largish ladies: the old biddies of Baker Street. Mrs Turner from next door, Ms Carmody, Mrs Booth and Ms Shelton-Blacksworth were all introduced to Violet. They all cooed and ooh'd and ah'd at this sweet-looking, pretty, young thing - Mrs Booth and Ms Shelton-Blacksworth sizing her up and wondering how to set her up with their sons.

"Violet's been helping Sherlock tidy things up a bit," Mrs Hudson said proudly.

"Ooh, he's a strange one," Mrs Turner offered.

"Look out for him dear, he'll be dragging you off to the morgue in no time," warned Mrs Booth.

"Oh, there's nothing I like better than a warm corpse on a cold, windy day, Mrs Booth," Violet replied sweetly, pouring the fruit loops into a bowl.

There was a moment's silence as the ladies all absorbed this information. As Violet used the milk already on the counter she stole a glance at Mrs Hudson, who had her arms crossed and was clearly not impressed that this type of comment was coming out of Violet's mouth. She was used to (well, almost) Sherlock shocking her friends with his statements, but not Violet.

"Can I take these downstairs for you?" Violet offered Mrs Hudson, indicating the pile of tea towels and aprons the ladies had piled in the corner of the room post bake-off. She needed an excuse to escape.

No reply was forthcoming, but Violet exited the kitchen anyway, listening to the rising babble of voices as they reacted to her previous statement.

_Dodged a bullet there_, Violet thought. _So glad I slept in._

She made her way down to the basement to deposit the laundry into the washing machine. She put her cereal bowl down on Mrs Hudson's sorting table. She then plopped the aprons and tea towels into the machine, and put it on an automatic cycle.

A low scuffling noise made her turn around. Rats!

But it wasn't.

Violet was startled to see a largish girl/young woman with stringy brown hair and glasses standing in one corner of the basement, holding an apron.

"Oh my god!" Violet reacted. "You startled me."

The girl held out the apron to her.

"Thanks," said Violet reaching out for it. She opened the washing machine and dropped the apron in, saying, "Escaping from the tea party upstairs?"

The girl didn't say anything so Violet offered, "I don't blame you."

Nothing.

"Well, see you later!"

Violet grabbed her bowl and dashed upstairs.

_Wonder which one of them she belongs to?  
Weirdo._

Violet munched on her cereal as she climbed the stairs. She had almost finished as she entered Sherlock's living room.

He was there! - typing away on his laptop.

Violet was surprised for a second, then composed herself.

"Good morning," she said, pleasantly enough.

Sherlock stopped typing for a moment to glance at his watch.

"Barely," he replied without looking at her.

Violet's stomach lurched. She made her way over to the kitchen to wash her bowl. She glanced at Sherlock. He was frowning and reading something on his screen. Violet felt sick. He didn't even look at her. He hated her. He regretted last night. She felt her eyes sting with tears.

_Highlighter pen._

She blinked the tears away and finished washing up. She then made her way over to him - to the desk - and said in a soft voice, "Can I just squish past..."

He tutted (!) and moved his chair forward slightly. Violet leant behind him and grabbed a highlighter from the pen holder.

"Highlighter," she muttered in an FYI kind of way.

She started to make her way out of the living room.

"I didn't know I had a -highlighter-," Sherlock remarked.

Violet stopped and turned her head more to the door than to Sherlock.

"I bought them yesterday."

He leaned back in his chair and eyed the back of her head almost suspiciously.

"What do you need -highlighters- for?"

"To mark statements that I think are important," Violet replied, thinking what a bizarre conversation.

Sherlock tutted again and resumed his typing.

Violet continued upstairs. She was slightly trembling now. She needed to do the utterly girly thing and throw herself onto her bed and cry.

After Violet had left the room, Sherlock leaned back in his chair trying to analyse the way she had said "Good morning." Was it overly happy? Full of venom, hatred and regret? Nonchalant? Post Traumatic Syndrome-ish?

He hadn't looked at her face. He didn't dare to.

Violet came back downstairs in the early evening. She had to pack some snacks to take to the read-through. She continued past Sherlock's door as she knew there weren't any supplies in his kitchen. She hoped Mrs Hudson had cupcakes and slices left over from the bake-off.

She encountered John Watson on the stairs as she descended.

"Evening, Violet," he remarked, amicably.

"Hi John!" she answered, slowing down. Violet thought of a million things she wanted to ask John - all related to Sherlock and dating of course - but a quick meeting on the staircase didn't seem the appropriate time and place for it.

"On your way out?" he asked.

"Soon. Just getting some food. I'll be back up in a minute!" she called out as she continued downstairs.

"Evening," John said to Sherlock, as he entered through kitchen door. Sherlock was at the kitchen table examining something under his microscope.

"John," Sherlock replied, looking up.

"I hear you've cracked the Carfax case?"

"Bit obvious in the end," replied Sherlock, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms.

"How so?" asked John, leaning against the breakfast bar.

Violet returned as Sherlock was explaining the case to John - the end bit anyway. She had entered through the living room door, and walked over to the table to look for a notepad she could use to take notes on at the rehearsal.

Sherlock and John had started talking about a pension scandal - a case that Sherlock was clearly reluctant to investigate. John convinced Sherlock to go downstairs now and assure Mrs Hudson that he would do something about it. Violet was surprised to see Sherlock obeying John as he sulked off downstairs.

That left Violet in John's company for a moment or two.

"You off then?" John queried walking into the living room, as Violet swung her bag laden with goodies over her shoulder.

"Yes, I've got my first rehearsal. I'm a bit nervous actually," she smiled wanly.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," John commented good-naturedly, "They gave you the part after all!"

"Thanks, well I'll see you later!" Violet answered, brightening a little.

She took a few steps in the direction of the door, then turned back to John.

"John?"

"Yes?" he answered, as he picked up a newspaper from the side table of Violet's favourite armchair.

"Can I ask you a question about Sherlock?"

John's face remained impassive. He had an inkling on what topic her question would be based.

"Sure," he said, after a pause.

Violet looked down for a moment, composing her thoughts - not really knowing which of the one million questions she should ask to get the conversation rolling.

"Um..."

"Look Violet," John began softly, thinking to circumnavigate any direct question, "Sherlock doesn't ... date."

"I know."

_She knows, but she still looks disappointed_, thought John.

"Well, I mean he goes out, and ..." he paused, trying to think of the politically correct word.

"Picks up women?" finished Violet.

"Oh, you know about the Thursday night thing then."

"Thursday night?"

John closed his mouth thinking he'd put his foot in it.

"You don't know about the Thursday night thing?" he queried.

"What's the Thursday night thing?"

"When he... picks up."

"Oh, I didn't know it was specifically Thursday nights," remarked Violet, feeling confused.

"No, not every Thursday night. Just... Look, if he ends up wanting to go out, he'll choose Thursday. It's just ... less busy."

John wanted to end this conversation now before Violet asked him anything specific. The sound of Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs saved John from any further embarrassment. Sherlock walked through the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table.

"All taken care of," he said, before staring into the microscope again.

Violet suddenly wanted to be alone with Sherlock. She had something to say to him. She looked at John, willing him to leave.

"Oh Mrs Hudson has something for you to give -Mary-, you know, for the thingummy-bob," Sherlock waved from the microscope.

"Wedding," finished John, irritably.

But John remained standing near the armchairs, reading the newspaper.

"Ooh, are you planning your wedding?" asked Violet, feigning interest.

"Uh, yeah," John replied, smiling and looking up from the paper.

"Mrs Hudson must have something old or blue then," Violet suggested.

"Mmm," John answered non-commitedly, looking back down at the paper.

"I'd love to see it - I'll come down with you on my way out!" Violet remarked, making a move towards the door, hoping John would get the hint and walk with her.

Sherlock looked up from the microscope, suspecting something was up.

"Oh, okay, then," said John, putting the paper down. He thought Violet wanted to continue their conversation on the way down, and thought he ought to for the poor girl's sake.

Sherlock eyed them suspiciously.

Violet let John go down the stairs first, before exclaiming, "Oh, I forgot my water bottle - I'll be down in a minute!"

With her heart beating furiously, she re-entered the living room. She approached Sherlock who was looking back down the microscope.

"Sherlock?" she said tentatively.

"Mmmm?" he responded without looking up.

She walked closer to him, swallowed nervously, then bent down and kissed him on the cheek before saying quietly, "Thank you for being a gentleman last night."

She straightened up and took a step back as Sherlock slowly raised his head from the microscope. He smiled faintly, and replied, "You're welcome."

"I'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow."

As she turned to go, Sherlock said, "Have a good... rehearsal."

* * *

Violet woke to a regular thumping noise on her bedroom floor.

Sherlock!

Violet pictured him lying below in his living room, still in his pyjamas, on his couch, throwing his tennis ball up at the ceiling and catching it again.

She groaned and sat up. It was too early for her. She kicked her bag off the bed. She had dumped it there the night before. The script and contents of her bag spilled across the floor. She looked at her now well-read script. She smiled, pleased with herself. Last night went really well. The rest of the cast were nice. The director was - nice. It was all just nice and pleasant.

The perfect distraction from ... this.

There wasn't a lot to do downstairs. She thought she'd give herself the day off. Perhaps swan around in her pjs, like Sherlock did.

Sherlock.

Why did her thoughts have to keep coming back to Sherlock. She should just give him up. She'd just met all these eligible young men at the theatre last night.

My God, what was she thinking!

Thud!

Well I can't lie here listening to that repetitive noise anyway, she thought to herself. I may as well get downstairs and eat. Perhaps go for a jog.

* * *

Indeed Sherlock _was_ lying stretched out on the couch, tennis ball in hand. He wasn't up as early as the day before, but he still was woken from roughly the same dream, with roughly the same sized erection.

Pre-Violet he would have already been looking to the days ahead - waiting for Thursday night to roll around, to have some relief from the mundane repetition of case-less days. Today he was disgusted at that option: the idea of scanning a bar for that perfect target: the woman alone, but not lonely; single, but not desperate; some intelligence to engage in a slightly interesting conversation with, but not too much that she would see through his act.

He only wanted Violet.

He would save himself for Violet.

And that voice in his head? The one that reminded him that Sherlock Holmes does not have _-feelings-_ toward women; does not date; does not day-dream about his young female neighbour; does not worry about what anybody thinks? Well that voice can go fuck itself, because he needed his thoughts all to himself to continue fantasising about Violet in a manner that pleased him.

And he needed a case! Then he would have an excuse to spend time with her - see her smile, make her laugh, make her cry (that would be optional), and possibly kiss her again.

He heard her coming downstairs and he froze, tennis ball in hand. His eyes were closed, but he waited to gauge the nature of her "Good morning."

It didn't come.

He opened one eye and saw her walk into his kitchen. He shut it again as he saw her begin to turn around, probably to look at him. He heard her pour Fruit Loops into a bowl. Good, his plan had worked. In the night he had stealthily pilfered Mrs Hudson's secret box of Fruit Loops and placed it on his kitchen bench so Violet wouldn't have to go downstairs for breakfast and spend those few minutes not in his life.

* * *

Violet looked at Sherlock's lifeless body on the couch, still clutching the tennis ball. She sighed, then turned back to the kitchen.

Oh good, fruit loops.

She ate, moving over to the table thinking she should check Sherlock's emails for new cases. But there weren't any new ones - just praise for old ones. Violet finished her breakfast watching Sherlock. He was obviously asleep.

She decided to start a new file, and take down the Francis Carfax memorabilia.

She had only just found an empty file, and written "Francis Carfax" on it when she heard a "You hoo!" from the doorway, and a tentative knock from Mrs Hudson.

Violet observed Sherlock's whole body visibly cringe, from his head down to the curling of his toes.

She smiled at the landlady who was holding a tray.

Mrs Hudson whispered, "Hello dear, I've just brought some scones up. Thought we could have a cup of tea and a natter now that you're not coming downstairs as often."

Violet thought she heard Sherlock groan. She looked over at him and saw that he had pulled the cushion out that was underneath his head and placed it on top of his face.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Here's Sherlock's mail."

Mrs Hudson gave Violet the handful of mail that was tucked under her arm.

"Thank you."

Violet placed the pile on the table, then walked over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"How is Mrs Turner?" Violet asked, politely.

"Oh," laughed Mrs Hudson, "She just told me the funniest story about her son and his partner!"

Out of the corner of her eye Violet saw Sherlock remove another cushion, this one from his side, and place it on top of the first.

She smiled to herself.

She half-listened to Mrs Hudson's retelling of Mrs Turner's retelling of her son's and his partner's latest mis-hap. What she actually wanted to do was engage Sherlock in a conversation, but in his present mood that seemed highly unlikely.

Soon enough, tea and scone time was over, and Mrs Hudson, humming, began to clean up. Violet started sorting through Sherlock's mail.

Violet recognized some of the handwriting on many of the envelopes from fans. She placed them on the as yet unlit fireplace. With the weather cooling down lately, it wouldn't be long before the fire was lit, and the fan mail went up in smoke.

Mrs Hudson left, carrying her tray of tea things.

Violet looked across to Sherlock. He was still lying there, motionless, with the two cushions on his head.

Looking back at the mail, Violet noticed an envelope that was slightly larger than the usual personal mail envelopes. The handwriting looked similar to one of the fan mail addressed envelopes. Sherlock had shown her how to recognize some of the curves of the letters, but she wasn't always careful enough to spot them.

She glanced over at Sherlock, wondering if she should just open it to check. It could be another cheque. Well if its just fan mail, I'll toss it, thought Violet. The envelope was quite flat, so hardly likely to hide any bizarre souvenirs this time.

She sliced open the envelope with Sherlock's special letter opener he had received from a European princess. Inside was a photograph. Violet recognized the scene at once: Belles Square. And that was Sherlock standing next to the body talking to (reprimanding, more like it) a woman whom Violet initially thought was herself. But no, not quite. She peered at the photo a little closer. Well that's my body, but... that's not my face. Strange! Violet walked over to Sherlock's cabinet where she knew he kept an assortment of tools, specifically magnifying glasses. She retrieved one and used it to look closer at the photo.

Violet recognised it as a very bad photoshop attempt at putting someone else's head on her body. Violet turned the photograph over, and there was a handwritten caption which read "Sherlock and Nora's First Case xxx"

_Nora?_

"What are you doing?"

Violet looked up. Sherlock had evidently been watching her the entire time.

"Fan mail," she replied.

Sherlock sat up, sighing.

"Burn it," he said, waving his arm dismissively.

As Violet put the magnifying glass down on the table and slipped the photograph back in its envelope, Sherlock vigorously rubbed his hands through his hair then yelled, "I NEED A CASE!"

Violet was stunned for a second.

_My God - he's a madman!_

"You've got a case!" yelled a voice from the stairwell.

As John appeared in the doorway, Sherlock stood up and said, "John if you so much as mention the pension case I'm going to feed you to the pensioners, limb by limb."

John continued walking in and ignored Sherlock for a second.

"Hello," he said to Violet, checking that she wasn't too distressed by Sherlock's outburst.  
She smiled at him, silently thankful that he was there.

"Best ignore him when he's like this," John said in a stage whisper.

Sherlock, now with controlled anger sat back down on the couch, and said, "If you want your case John, here's your case..." Sherlock started flipping over the pages of the Real Estate section in the newspaper, "because unlike you I haven't been idle."

He flipped over a few more pages then said, "Ainslie, Stewart, Peter and Co. Low budget estate agents, specializing in cottages, townhouses, and," he paused, frowning, "dog houses it seems. Established in 1995, did well for a couple of years, then struggled when the economy dipped. It seems that the & Co. portion of the team went out on their own, partnering with a little known financial broker who specialized in duping little old ladies into parting with their knitting fund. Not only that, they also fraudulently brokered loans for young and naive newly weds who were desperate to escape mummy and daddy's inheritance and purchase their own homes. This house here has been on the market for the last 6 months. The owner, a nice little old lady from Cheswick will only agree to one more Open House this weekend. How do you know that? Because I visited her and asked her. I had a cup of tea and a brioche. The estate agent will be desperate to sell because after that they won't receive a commission, so I say go and make an offer on the house with you and Mary posing as young and naive newlyweds, who can't really afford it so our friend here will get his broker partner to set up a bogus loan fund after which you can get Lestrade to monitor the transaction then seize them when the deal is done. That's your pension case, John, now go and take that back to the Bingo Hall, and leave - me - the - hell - alone."

Sherlock flopped back onto the couch, turning his back on Violet and John.

"Right. Good... then," began John, walking over to the coffee table and picking up the newspaper. "There's one obvious hole in your plan."

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, turning over, and speaking in a considerably calmer voice.

"Mary and I aren't exactly young and naive."

Violet smiled at this.

Sherlock sat up again, looked thoughtful then replied, "No, you're not young are you?"

"Yes, very funny. Well we need a young couple who can convince the estate agent they're quite desperate," John reiterated.

"I might know a couple," Violet offered.

"No, we need professionals who can act desperate under pressure," Sherlock countered, imagining someone like Mandi and a meathead for a boyfriend showing up in tow.

Then Sherlock slowly looked up at Violet.

"You're an actor," he said.

"Very perceptive of you," Violet replied, knowing exactly where this was headed.

"Are you any good?"

Violet was surprised at the question. Had he forgotten all about her getting into Matthew Merlot's house and getting him to confess? It was only two days ago!

"I was able to get into Merlot's house, remember?"

"Yes, that was because you..." he began, glancing down at her figure.

_Oh my God, he thinks I got into Merlot's house because I flashed my breasts at him or something!_

"No, I didn't do what you think I did!"

"Okay, okay," John interrupted. "I don't think now's the time for teaching Violet about undercover work. We should see if Lestrade has any people.

Violet was really insulted now, "You don't think I can act," she said to both of them.

"I have no doubt you're an actor," said Sherlock, "but are you any good?"

"Have you seen me in anything?"

"No."

"Then how can I convince you that I'm any good?"

Sherlock thought for a moment.

"Can you fool me?"

"Okay, Sherlock," said John, "This is not the case for training your personal assistant to do police undercover work. I'll contact Lestrade tomorrow and see if he has anyone. Violet, I'm sorry, but this could be dangerous."

"I'll leave it in your hands, John. I'm going to the bathroom," Sherlock finished, wondering off to his room.

"Right, well I'd better get to the hospital. I've got rounds in an hour."

Violet was still stunned and extremely insulted.

"We'll see you later then?" she managed to say politely to John.

"Yes, probably around 2 tomorrow. Tell Sherlock I'll stop by then to let him know what Lestrade can do."

"Sure. Bye!"

Violet watched John go, then picked up a handful of mail and threw it into the fireplace.

"What a couple of arrogant wankers," she muttered to herself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Violet smiled to herself while thinking about last night's rehearsal. It was a second read-through, and she felt relaxed enough to bring some guts and angst to her character. The director was very pleased. She still had a long way to go though.

She was at the table in the living room, looking for the two cheques she had put aside yesterday to take to the bank this morning. She had only seen glimpses of Sherlock, dashing about like a madman. At least he was dressed though. He was muttering about going to estate agents and checking in with Lestrade.

_Looks like John has got him all worked up about the case at last_, thought Violet.

Sherlock flew by again at that moment.

"Where's my phone? Have you seen my phone?" he asked patting all his pockets and turning about.

"No, do you want me to ring it?" Violet asked, reaching for her bag.

"Oh!" Sherlock was struck by a sudden thought and he froze for a moment. He sprinted downstairs calling out, "No, it's in the pocket of my best dressing gown!"

_Oh_, laughed Violet to herself. _The one Mrs Hudson took down to wash._

The sound of Sherlock's ringing phone contradicted all that though, and Violet located it on the floor beside the couch. She thought she ought to answer it in case it was a potential client.

"Was that my phone?" Sherlock breathed as he re-entered the living room a minute later.

"Yes, it was someone named Mycroft. He didn't want to wait for you. He said you should call by his office at 1 this afternoon if he doesn't see you earlier."

"Oh." Sherlock scowled. "Well, I'll be out all morning," he added, huffily.

Violet wondered what was up.

"Oh, don't forget to be back by 2 though. John said he'd be here again to touch base," Violet informed him, feeling quite secretary-ish. "Should I let Mr. Mycroft in if he comes by when you're not here?"

"Holmes," corrected Sherlock.  
"Holmes?" queried Violet.  
"Mycroft Holmes. He's my brother."  
"I didn't know you had a brother?" Violet felt quite thrilled at the thought. It made Sherlock seem even more ...human.  
"We're not..." He stopped, not wanting to finish his sentence, or even this conversation topic.

"Right, I'm going to do the banking now, so I'll see you later," Violet remarked, sensing Sherlock's discomfort.

If she were slightly drunk, she may have probed further.

* * *

Violet left the flat before Sherlock did. She had a lot on her mind. She would do the banking, then catch up with an old friend she knew from her university theatre days.

Sherlock watched Violet leaving from his vantage point at his living room window. He was still pining for her even though he was keeping his mind, and therefore his body, extremely busy. In between moments of frenzy, he'd stop to re-orient himself, then let his mind drift back to her, like returning to a long, lost lover. He almost felt pangs of guilt whenever he realized he had stopped thinking about her for moments in time.

He closed the curtains, then re-opened them a tad when he thought he'd caught a glimpse of a figure behind a tree looking up at the flat. He squinted, but could see nothing more, so he guessed it was just a figment of his imagination.

He grabbed his coat from the back of the living room door, giving his black coat a dirty look in the process.

_I'll deal with you later_, he hissed at the inanimate object.

He sprinted down the stairs with one (other) thing on his mind.

_Mycroft._

_What could he want?_

* * *

Sherlock stalked from Scotland Yard.

_Useless bastards, the lot of them_, he thought, fuming to himself.

He had spoken to Lestrade, who reminded Sherlock that fraud was not his area and to go down and see a Detective Inspector Jabez in the fraud squad. Sherlock had contacted the fraud squad, only to be told that Jabez was on a break and would be back the following Tuesday, and asked if he would like to leave a message?

Sherlock had also spent his time researching house prices in Garnley so they could make a decent and realistic sounding offer on Saturday.

He yawned.

It was all so time consuming and so utterly dull.

He looked at his watch. 12:45. He checked his phone again, although he had been trying to ignore it: four missed calls and two text messages from Mycroft requesting that he 'drop in'.

With Mycroft there never is any 'dropping in.' Everything is so carefully calculated, planned, or manipulated.

"Ah, Sherlock," Mycroft smiled, extending a hand to direct Sherlock into the chair across from his. Sherlock had decided to fill in his time before going back to Baker Street to meet John.

Sherlock remained standing.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

"Always so aggressive. You do realize I'm concerned about you?"

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock repeated, more forcibly this time.

"I see you have a new ... companion."

Sherlock's face remained impassive.

"Someone to share in your little adventures with? How charming," Mycroft added.

"I think you'll find that they are 'cases' Mycroft, not 'adventures.'"

"Still, there was a little bit of a void left wasn't there, when John Watson moved in with his fiancée, Sherlock. A void you shouldn't be so hasty to fill."

When Sherlock didn't respond, Mycroft continued in measured tones, "You should let this one go, Sherlock. She's not for you."

Sherlock eyes narrowed, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm just warning you, dear brother. This girl - this, Violet Hunter - you should let her go, before..."

"Before what?"

"Well let's just say, before it's too late."

Sherlock scoffed. "Good day, Mycroft."

* * *

As Sherlock took a cab back to Baker Street he reflected on his "conversation" with his older brother.

_Typical Mycroft. Always cynical. Is he trying to stop me from getting laid?_

Sherlock's taxi pulled up at 221 at the same time as John's.

"Ah good," said John as he alighted. "Get anywhere with Scotland Yard?"

"We may have to re-think," Sherlock replied, unlocking the front door to 221.

"Well, I was thinking about the open house and I thought I could be a separate party making a higher offer on the place," John began, as they ascended the stairs. "Then the naive newlyweds could make a lower offer, which the estate agent will ignore of course. Then just as the open house is closing I could get a phone call prompting me to pull out, leaving the estate agent desperate enough to try to convince the young couple to... negotiate a higher price? Then he could put them onto his dodgy broker friend?"

He finished just as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Good, John," responded Sherlock, almost condescendingly, "Full of intelligent..."

Sherlock stopped talking as he noticed the door to his flat slightly ajar. Usually it was either pulled all the way shut, or fully open. He sniffed. There was the scent of cheap male cologne in the air. A sob and a muffled cry came from just inside.

Sherlock pushed the door gently. It creaked as it swung open.

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed John, as he took in the sight of Violet hunched on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. "Violet!"

Violet looked up in shock as John rushed over to her. Her face was tear-stained and a reddish, purplish bruise was shining on one side of her face.

Sherlock remained in the doorway, unable to move for a moment. His blood was boiling. In those few seconds that John had rushed over to Violet, Sherlock had taken in the details of the rest of the living room.

The buffalo skull hung oddly on the wall, its headphones dangling below its head. The entire contents of his table were strewn upon the carpet. The filing cabinet was open and some of the files' contents were up-ended around it. The carpet itself was buckled in places.

"What have they done to you?" John said softly to Violet, snapping Sherlock out of his momentary trance. Violet shrunk away as John put out his hand towards her.

"Violet!" Sherlock said hoarsely.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor, just let me have a look, " John said cautiously.

Sherlock walked around to the other end of the coffee table.

"Don't t-touch me!" Violet put two shaky arms up to block John from examining her face.  
"Okay," John said softly.

"Violet," said Sherlock quietly, coming up behind her and kneeling down. "It's all right. It's over now, we're here."

He gently reached out and touched her shoulder as Violet started trembling. He put his other hand on her other shoulder and gently pulled her toward him. Violet turned and started sobbing into his chest. John had stood up and slowly moved the coffee table away.

"I'll ring for the police and an ambulance," he said quietly.

"No!" Violet yelled, her voice hoarse from crying. "They're w-watching!"

"Who's watching?" Sherlock said, a little too aggressively.

"No, no, no!" Violet covered her head with her arms and sobbed.

Sherlock took a deep breath to calm himself, then gently rubbed Violet's arms, saying, "Shhhh, it's okay."

He continued holding her, rubbing her arms and back and speaking softly to her. John looked down at them both, oddly surprised to see this very sensitive side to Sherlock. When Sherlock looked up at him, John held out his hands and shrugged.

"Go over to the window John, and see if anyone's out there," Sherlock said quickly and in a low voice.

His mind was racing. The figure in the street this morning!

Violet's sobbing had grown quieter, and Sherlock felt her heart was no longer racing.

"Violet," he whispered softly to her, "we need to know who did this to you."

Violet took a few deep breaths, and stammered, "T-two men."

Sherlock gently lifted Violet up so she was off his chest, and moved so he was in front of her. He gently brushed her hair away from her face, and said, looking into her eyes, "You're all right now. It's going to be okay."

He then noticed that her neck was all red as well. Internally seething, he tried to ask as calmly as possible, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Violet slowly shook her head, looking up at Sherlock. Her eyes looked hollow, and he thought she didn't seem to see him.

"Try to remember," he said slowly and softly, "What did they look like? What did they want?"

Then he had a thought, "Did they find what they wanted?"

"Oh, Jesus, Sherlock, do you think that this has something to do with one of your cases?" John asked, incredulously.

Violet sat up a little straighter. Both men looked at her. She blinked, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She slowly held out her hand to give Sherlock a piece of paper which was crumpled from her hand having clenched it so tightly.

"What's this?" he asked.

Violet slowly got up and sat on the couch. Sherlock got up off the floor at this moment too, and unfolded the piece of paper.

Violet looked over at John and said hoarsely, "I'm sorry, John."

"What?" John said, confused.

Sherlock ignored this exchange and had opened the note and began to read out loud:

SO, SHERLOCK HOLMES, WORLD'S GREATEST DETECTIVE, DO YOU THINK I'M A GOOD ENOUGH ACTOR NOW? LOVE VIOLET X

At this point Violet burst out laughing.

She covered her mouth, continuing to laugh as the two men stared at her, then each other.

"What?" John said.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry!" Violet said, still laughing, but shaking her head. She stood up, wiping her tears away.

Sherlock stared at her in disbelief, his heart beating wildly. Violet walked over to him, gently touched his shoulder and took the note away off him. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then walked around the back of him, stroking her hand across his back as she did so and stood on the other side of him.

Sherlock breathed out, seeming oddly calm. Eventually, he started to smirk.

"What's going on?" demanded John, "Can someone please explain to me..."

"John, I'm really sorry, said Violet walking over to him, and resting her hand on his upper arm, "I didn't mean to involve you. It was just..."

"An audition," finished Sherlock.

John was silent for a moment, then yelled, "Oh bloody hell! Well I hope you two will be very happy together."

He went to stalk out of the room when Sherlock said, "You're right John. She'll be perfect as my wife!"

* * *

Violet was upstairs in her bathroom, wiping off the 'bruising' with makeup remover. Sherlock and John were downstairs going over the final details for Saturday's Open House: Violet and Sherlock were to be the newlyweds, while John was another prospective buyer.

John had calmed down - eventually - and he was resigned to the fact that Violet was fully capable of going 'undercover', especially since she had Sherlock's support.

Violet had already recounted her morning of preparation to them: visiting an old theatre friend of hers who was now a special effects makeup artist and asking him to come over at 1pm to apply the makeup ("He wanted to do broken skin and blood, but I was worried John would try to clean the wound"); prior to the makeup application, she had to somehow get Mrs Hudson out of the house by subtly suggesting her grey roots were showing and perhaps she needed a touch-up ("Mrs Hudson was all in a flutter trying to get an appointment as soon as possible - I felt so awful."); carefully 'trashing' Sherlock's living room ("I'll clean it all up, I promise"); spraying men's cologne on a handkerchief then wafting it around the room ("Nice touch," Sherlock had said).

"And I just had to risk it by hoping you'd both be here at around 2," she'd added, "assuming you went to see your brother first?"

"Mycroft? What did he want?" John had asked. Sherlock just waved his hand at him.

Violet had a shower after removing the last of the makeup and was feeling quite refreshed as she went back downstairs.

She heard John and Sherlock talking before she got to the bottom step.

"So Rucastle slaughtered his wife and daughter," began John.  
"Before being mauled by his own dog," finished Sherlock, "Tragic."  
"And so Copper Beeches remained vacant until..." said John, as he read off Sherlock's notebook.

Violet entered the room at that moment.

Sherlock noticed her. "John."  
"...it was bought by a consortium who..." John continued reading.  
"You may want to shut up now John."

"What are you doing?" Violet asked, looking hurt.

"We found out about Copper Beeches," John announced proudly.  
"John," Sherlock warned.  
"What? You said you wanted to surprise her," John said defensively as he noticed Violet's face and stance.  
"No, I didn't," said Sherlock, taking his computer off John's lap. They were seated side by side on the couch.  
"Yes you did," John said, getting up.  
"Okay, Dumb and Dumber, I said I didn't want to know so just stop talking about it," Violet said before stalking off towards the kitchen.  
"You've done it now," John said to Sherlock. "Can I help you with the tea?" John walked over to the kitchen to help Violet.  
"Nobody likes a suck up, John!" Sherlock yelled after him before adding, "No, but really you should help with the tea."

John and Violet quietly got the afternoon tea ready. John even went downstairs to sweet talk Mrs Hudson into parting with a plate of freshly baked apple muffins.

"Your hair looks really lovely, Mrs Hudson," he had said to her.

The mock break-in and attack on Violet almost forgotten, the three of them enjoyed afternoon tea time with John retelling some of Sherlock's earlier cases that he had been involved in. Sherlock kept interrupting him by telling John not to romanticise the cases and instead stick to the cold hard facts and the brilliance of Sherlock's skills of deduction - to which John would reply, "Shut up Sherlock!"

Violet had been sitting in Sherlock's grey armchair, with John in his old armchair and Sherlock seated on one of the chairs from his desk, placed between the two armchairs.

The conversation moved onto John's blog and the nuisance it became due to the number and type of fans Sherlock was getting. John mocked Sherlock's website, "The Science of Decduction" and Sherlock was keen to show Violet, confident that she would be impressed by it. He got up from his chair and retrieved his computer from the coffee table where he'd left it earlier. Violet stood up and started clearing up the tea things, while John opened the newspaper which was beside him. He had no interest in Sherlock's website, having read it after the first time they had met all those years ago.

Sherlock returned, sitting in his grey armchair which Violet had vacated. He navigated to his website and started giving an overview of it, while Violet listened from the kitchen, washing the dishes. He read out a few comments left by a couple of respected forensic experts, then navigated to one of their websites to show Violet some theories they had which matched his own. He had lost Violet at this point and she drifted over from the kitchen to obtain a visual of what he was describing.

Violet perched herself on the armrest next to Sherlock, with one arm leaning on the back of his chair for support. John looked up in interest at this point. Not the point of conversation, but the fact that Violet was in close proximity to Sherlock and he hadn't even moved an inch away from her due to the discomfort he usually feels whenever anybody invades his personal space. In fact, over the course of a few minutes, John was even sure he had seen Sherlock move slightly _towards_ Violet.

John frowned, returning to his newspaper, but glancing up now and then as Violet laughed or reached over Sherlock to point out something on the screen. Annoyingly - to John - Sherlock would even laugh occasionally. They had moved onto YouTube videos now.

John peered over his newspaper and narrowed his eyes at the couple. He mentally listed the facts: It was Thursday; Sherlock only had a semi-interesting case; Violet was fawning all over him. He sighed, thinking this had disaster written all over it. If only he could interfere at some point.

He couldn't think of anything.

He had nothing.

Then his phone buzzed.

"Ah, Mary's finished work," he said, reading his text message. "Well, I'm off then."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in response, saying "Hmmm?" but not looking up, the way he always did when he was only half interested in what John had to say. Violet on the other hand got up from the armchair (much to Sherlock's disappointment) to say goodbye to John.

"Will we see you tomorrow?" she asked him.

"Ah, no. I'm working all day. I'll come by here though, before the ... Open House, Saturday morning," he finished with a half smile, feeling slightly unhappy about the plan.

Violet grinned at him.

"Again, I'm sorry about this afternoon, John."

She put out her arms and moved in to hug John. He responded with a bear hug, patting her on the back a couple of times.

"It's okay, I'll get over it! Just don't tell Mary I was taken in," he added with a smile. "Bye Sherlock!"

"John," Sherlock said. He was already looking up at them and had been frowning slightly at the hugging.

John turned and left. Violet went back over to the kitchen to finish the dishes. Sherlock closed his laptop feeling a bit sullen. He had been enjoying himself and now the fun had ended, it seemed.

He got up and wandered over to the coffee table. He bent over and picked up his tennis ball. He moved back towards his table, then aimed a careful throw at the wall above the couch, hitting the spray-painted smiley face on one of its eyes. He caught the ball as it bounced once on the floor. He did this again as Violet turned around from the kitchen sink and warned, "You'll annoy the neighbors, and Mrs Hudson."

"Good. I'm bored," he stated, hitting the face one more time, before aiming a careful throw at the fruit basket on the coffee table. He missed, sending ball and basket crashing to the floor.

"Well you'll have to find yourself something useful to do," Violet said, finishing up in the kitchen. "I'm off to study my script some more, then I've got dinner with my dad."

"Your dad? I thought he lives in Manchester?" Sherlock asked while he fixed up the fruit bowl.

"No, that's my brother. Well, step-brother. Dad lives here in London, but I don't see him much. I'm a bit of a ... disappointment."

Violet moved toward the door. Sherlock straightened up.

"Disappointment?" he asked.

"It's a long story. Later maybe," she said with a sad smile, and as if to conclude the conversation she reached back and shut the door on her way out of Sherlock's living room.

The coats on the door bounced a little as the door shut. Sherlock stared at them.

What was he going to do now?

It was Thursday.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Updated to fix some spelling errors which slipped through in my ... haste. :)

**Chapter 11**

Sherlock stoked the fire until all of the envelopes of fan mail were seriously burning. He stared into the fire watching the shapes and shadows dance, flicker and change shape again. He sat back in his armchair, putting his elbows on the armrests, fingertips together against his mouth - his thinking pose.

This was the first moment he had had in which to reflect on this afternoon's bogus drama. Violet was all right.

Violet wasn't hurt.

Violet wasn't crumpled and broken and needing him to soothe and fix her.

He tried to fathom the intensity of his emotions during that time. His heart had been in his mouth; his insides burning with rage and turmoil and ...

... then she had laughed at him.

He had held her and almost wept with her, and in the end, really, she had laughed.  
At him.

He stood up, and angrily paced the room.

She obviously doesn't feel the way I feel about her. He acknowledged that he had -_feelings_- for her.

And what was that?

An ache - a yearning, sleepless night inducing, intoxicating, suffocating ache inside.

He stopped pacing, and stared at the living room door.

His black jacket hung there limply, mocking him.

"Right!" he said, decision made. He strolled purposefully over to the door, grabbed his black jacket and raced downstairs.

* * *

Violet lay in bed. She rolled over and stared at her clock.

Midnight.

She couldn't sleep. Her evening kept replaying in her mind.

Her dad was disappointed in her yet again. He was concerned, of course, that she was now living upstairs from, and working for, an eccentric man who poked his nose into police business, visited morgues as a hobby, and was rude and petulant to all he met. Those weren't the words Violet had used to describe Sherlock to her father. She had been merely telling him amusing anecdotes about Sherlock, and her dad had summarized him in this way.

She was glad though, that she didn't confide in him how she felt about Sherlock: how a curiosity had turned into a little crush and the crush grown into a full-blown, angst-ridden obsession.

She sighed, getting up off her bed, and deciding to refill the water bottle she kept on her bedside table - maybe snuggle up in Sherlock's armchair by the fire so she could smell his cologne, or lie on the couch as he does when he's bored and pretend he was with her.

_I really need to get laid._

She went downstairs and saw that Sherlock's living room was all aglow from the fire which had just about died down to ashes. She walked through the living area, feeling the soft carpet beneath her bare feet.

_I hope Sherlock doesn't catch me in my pjs._

She was wearing a skimpy singlet top and very short pyjama pants. She had forgotten to don her dressing gown in her tired haste.

Violet walked over to the sink and filled up her water bottle. She came back into the living room, scanning it, and reliving the memory of sitting on Sherlock's armrest and occasionally brushing her arm against the back of his neck as they looked at his computer together.

She sat down in her favourite armchair and hugged the cushion. Then something caught her eye, or more accurately, didn't catch her eye.

Violet stared in disbelief at the empty hook where Sherlock's black coat usually hung.

She stood up, not believing that it wasn't just a trick of the light - the fire making odd patterns and shadows on the walls and door.

The pit of her stomach lurched and blood drained from her face.

_This can't be happening, this can't be happening._

Her mind was scrambling for thoughts; everything tumbled through her head.

His goodnight kiss - was that a goodbye kiss? A 'thank you very much but I'll still get my rocks off elsewhere' kiss? His coldness and aloofness the next day should have confirmed that for her.

She sank back into the chair and stared into the glowing fireplace, a tear trickling down her cheek. And then she sobbed - horrible, childish, heart-wrenching sobs into the Union Jack cushion.

_Why do I pick such ... fuckers!_

Her anger mingled with her sadness and a smattering of confusion for what she thought Sherlock felt for her. After a while her sobs had died down and she stared, transfixed, at the dying embers. She occasionally sniffed, the odd tear or two still making its way down her cheek.

"Violet?"

Violet hiccuped one last sob and turned in the direction of the voice, Sherlock's voice. She stood up, dropping the cushion.

Sherlock had emerged from his room, wearing his grey pyjamas with his hair extremely tousled.

_Oh God_, Violet thought. _He's brought some whore home, here to Baker Street. He's been fucking her in his bedroom while I've been out here crying like a fucking loser reject._

"Why are you sitting out here in the dark, crying?" he asked in a low whisper, walking toward her.

_Yes, keep whispering, you fucking prick, so your slut of a girlfriend doesn't hear you and come out half-naked to beckon you back in for another round._

She had to get out of here. She felt so humiliated.

"I... don't ... it doesn't matter, it's nothing," Violet replied, backing up and making her way out through the living room.

But Sherlock had caught up to her before she got to the doorway.

"No you don't," he said, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. "You don't get to sit there and cry, in my living room, at midnight, then run off and say it was nothing. What are you... are you drunk?"

He sniffed the air next to Violet. "You don't smell drunk."

Violet yanked her arm out of Sherlock's grasp.

"No, I haven't been drinking, " she replied in a loud whisper, "I'm not the one who's been cruising the bars, picking up some cheap fuck to bring home," she gestured vaguely to the door.

Sherlock glanced in the direction that Violet had indicated, taking in the door, with one coat on it and an obvious blank space.

She continued, "So don't you dare..."

"Do you think I went out tonight?" Sherlock interrupted. "Did you think I -_picked up_- ?"

"What?" Violet was confused. These weren't the weasel words she was expecting to hear.

"Where's your coat?" she asked in a small voice.

"My _coat_?" Sherlock asked, with some amusement in his voice. "My coat? I took it down to Mrs Hudson. I don't want it anymore. I asked her to add it to the charity bag she takes to the Red Cross on Fridays. Is that what this is about? Is that why you're upset? Because my coat isn't there? Why should that bother _you_?"

Violet felt like a complete, fucking twit.

Sherlock hoped he would hear the answer he had been waiting for...

She stared up at him, relief washing through her, her heart beating faster. She lowered her gaze, feeling completely humbled. Her eyes swam with tears again.

Sherlock had moved closer to her. He cupped his hand under her chin and gently tilted her face towards his.

"Don't cry," he said, his voice softening, and with the other hand he brushed her hair off her face. He cradled her face in both his hands, then kissed the tears on her cheek first, then gently kissed her on the lips.

Violet felt a shiver run through her entire body. She kissed him back, a deep, passionate kiss, full of longing. Sherlock slid his arms down to Violet's waist while Violet brought her arms up encircling his neck. Violet ran her hands through Sherlock's already perfectly tousled hair.

"Violet," Sherlock murmured into her ear as he broke off kissing her lips, his mouth and tongue gliding over her neck and showering her with kisses. Violet was conscious of her very flimsy attire as Sherlock started caressing her back underneath her singlet. His hands moved to her sides and he brought one up, brushing across the side of her breast. Violet had a short in-take of breath, and whispered, "Sherlock!"

The effect of this only encouraged Sherlock. He ran his hands down her back to the waistband of her pyjama shorts, sliding his hand between the elastic and her bare skin. He pressed his hands against the top of her buttocks, pulling her in tighter so she could feel his hardness against her stomach. He started pushing her backwards and with one hand momentarily taken off her, he flicked the living room door shut. They collided into the closed door knocking Sherlock's blue coat to the floor.

"Sherlock," Violet gasped, while he kissed her passionately.

Sherlock lifted one of Violet's legs and held it up at the back of her knee so he could grind his pelvis into hers. He was back to kissing her on the mouth, stifling her gasp. He let her leg down again, while Violet ran her hands down to Sherlock's waist. She slipped her hand inside his pyjamas, and started gently rubbing him while he moaned and rocked against her. He kissed her again and again while his hands slid under her singlet and he caressed both her breasts.

He then lifted up the bottom of her singlet, bringing it over her head and dropped it to the floor. Violet hurriedly helped Sherlock take his shirt off, then they resumed their frantic kissing. Sherlock navigated them over to the couch, but had backed Violet into the coffee table. They came to their senses momentarily and side-stepped towards the couch.

Violet lay down first, pulling Sherlock down on top her and wrapping her legs around him. He started kissing her neck, then moved down slowly to her breasts, sliding his hand between her legs. Violet arched her back, then grabbed Sherlock's hair, murmuring, "Sherlock, oh... god!"

He was back up again and started using his thumbs to inch down her pyjama shorts. She helped him and wriggled out of them, then watched as he inelegantly shed himself of his pants.

He was back on top of her and just about to enter her when she whispered, "Sherlock, we have to..."

Sherlock sighed, muttered, "Fuck!", climbed off, then grabbed her hand, pulling her up off the couch.

"Come on!" he said in a loud whisper. He led her by the hand through the living room and kitchen to his bedroom. Violet tentatively looked into the room, half expecting to see some bar-trollop waiting seductively on Sherlock's bed.

Feeling slightly relieved, Violet lay down on the bed, while Sherlock closed his door. She felt a little bit self-conscious and exposed when he looked down at her and slowly made his way over to her.

Sherlock lay down on top of her as she again wrapped her legs around him. They resumed kissing as Sherlock managed to inch their way over to the side of his bed. He tried to keep kissing Violet as his hand rummaged around in this bedside drawer.  
He stopped kissing her and muttered, "Fuck it!" as he sat up to look properly in the drawer. He retrieved what he was looking for.

"Do you want to..." he asked, holding out the packet to Violet.

She took it off him and pushed him down onto the bed. She tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom onto him. Still holding him, she kissed his chest, then his nipples. Sherlock groaned as Violet straddled him, then lowered herself.

"Violet!" he gasped, as she gently rocked on top of him. He moved with her, then pulled her down into a kiss. They kissed and moved in the same rhythm, with Sherlock murmuring her name. Violet sat up again, moving in time with Sherlock as she gazed down at him. Sherlock sat up, holding Violet around her waist. He kissed her neck as she arched her back, then he turned, and they rolled. He gently lowered Violet onto her back.  
"Sher.." but she didn't finish, "... oh!" She gripped tightly onto his neck, his hair as her excitement mounted, "Yes... Sherlock!"

Sherlock was in his own rhythm now, his excitement heightened as he listened to Violet's orgasm. She pulled him in deeper, and he cried out and came inside her.

He rocked gently into her, finishing his climax, kissing the side of her neck. She clung to him, and he could feel her sobbing underneath him. He pulled out of her, and lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't cry," he whispered, "Shhh, don't cry".

Violet nuzzled her face into his neck and whispered back, "Happy tears."

They entwined their arms and legs and soon fell asleep.

* * *

Several times during the night as sleep pulled them apart, they found each other again, and wrapped their arms and legs around one another.

Sherlock woke Violet up at some stage, and made love to her again, slowly and gently, and again she had cried, and he kissed her tears away.

Violet woke up smiling as the sun peaked in through the blinds in Sherlock's room. She looked across the bed. He wasn't there. She rolled over and hugged the pillow he had been using, and breathed it in, smelling him on it. She turned to the door. It was ajar, and she could hear Sherlock whistling and the sound of something being beaten in a plastic container.

She looked at the clock. It was 7.

_Damn Sherlock and his early rising!_

She climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet she held her head in her hands.

_Tired._

_Where are my pyjamas?_

She finished in the bathroom, then feeling self-conscious, she slowly opened Sherlock's ensuite door and peeked out. There, on the edge of the bed, neatly folded, lay her pyjamas. She smiled to herself.

Violet hurriedly dressed, well, with what she had - she still felt quite naked - and entered the kitchen.

"Mmmm, smells good!" she remarked, butterflies in her stomach. She suddenly felt shy.

Sherlock was dashing about the kitchen, spatula in hand, mixing jug in the other, and a frypan cooking up pancakes on the stove.

He strode over to her, arms outstretched, despite the utensils.  
"Good morning!" he said cheerfully, "I have just 17 seconds in which to kiss you!"

He kissed her, but not properly because she was trying hard not to smile at the absurdity of it all. They broke apart, and he turned back to the stove and flipped the pancakes over.

"I didn't know you could cook," remarked Violet, making her way over to the breakfast bar and sitting down.

"It's extremely easy," he replied, flipping the pancakes onto a serving plate. "It's all in there." He pointed with the spatula to an open recipe book on the counter. Then he poured more mixture into the frypan, strolled over to Violet and said "17 seconds."

She returned his kiss properly this time, pulling him in between her legs because he couldn't embrace her effectively while holding a spatula and mixing jug at the same time. He broke away again, flipped the pancakes, waited several seconds for the second side to cook, then tossed them onto the serving plate with the others.

Pour, kiss, flip, wait.

The last lot of pancakes were burnt.

Violet cleared away what she could off the kitchen table. Well, they could use half of it anyway. She sat down at the end of the table as Sherlock placed a stack of pancakes in front of her.

"Maple syrup or sugar?" he asked. "I think Mrs Hudson's got some lemons downstairs if you prefer that?"

"No, maple syrup is fine thanks," Violet replied, smiling. She felt as though she were in Wonderland.

Sherlock sat down on the side of the table with his own stack.

They ate in silence for a bit.

"These are amazing," Violet exclaimed, with her mouth full.  
"Don't thank me," Sherlock answered, "Thank Jamie Oliver!"  
"Not everyone can follow a recipe, you know," remarked Violet, once she'd finished her mouthful.  
"Why not? It's very straight-forward. Everything's written there. How could you go wrong?"  
"It just doesn't work out for some people."  
"Morons," then he added, "I once cooked a souffle for the niece of Princess Madeleine of Hesse."  
Violet looked at Sherlock and frowned.  
"Oh, don't look at me like that. I didn't fuck her. I got the recipe from Google," he added proudly.  
"You hoo!" called a voice from the living room. Violet suddenly felt severely under-dressed.  
"Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson as she rounded the corner. "I'll be stopping by the shops after I go to the Red Cross. Do you need anything? Oh, pancakes! That's a big effort for you, Violet!"

"Sherlock made them," Violet offered, praying that Mrs Hudson wouldn't notice her attire.

Sherlock beamed, and Mrs Hudson frowned, "Oh, Sherlock. Look at the mess you've made!"

Mrs Hudson walked over to the bench and put the mixing jug that Sherlock had been using in the sink, and filled it with water, much to Violet's amusement.

"I think we only need milk, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied.  
"It's lovely that he could do something for you for a change," Mrs Hudson said to Violet. "Ooh, it's a bit nippy in here. You should wear a dressing gown," she added, then she left through the kitchen door.

Sherlock stared at Violet, grinning. Violet swallowed the last of her pancake, then put her fork down.

"I'm full," she stated.

"I'm still hungry," replied Sherlock.

They both made a beeline for the bedroom.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Thank you for looking after me yesterday when I was attacked," Violet began.  
She was resting her head on Sherlock's chest, tracing circles with her fingertips onto his bare torso.

"You weren't attacked. It was all fake," he replied matter-of-factly, with a hint of bad sportsmanship. Sherlock had his phone in one hand and was checking his messages while playing with Violet's hair with the other.

"That doesn't change the fact that you were trying to comfort me," Violet replied, still tracing circles.

"Of course I knew you were faking. I was just going along with it for John's sake," Sherlock replied offhandedly.

Violet stopped her tracing and looked up at Sherlock, her chin resting on her arm.  
"No, you didn't."

Sherlock put his phone down and met her gaze."Yes, I did. Your bruises smellt like cosmetics."

Violet moved up closer to Sherlock's face, within kissing distance.

"I don't believe you. You were upset," she whispered, "and angry," she gently stroked his face, "And I'm sorry," and she leant in and kissed him.

Sherlock returned the kiss for a moment, and when she pulled away he said, "You won't get to fool me twice."

He kissed her deeply again, then rolled her onto her back. Coming out of the kiss, he raised himself on his elbows, and said, "We have to get up now. We're due in court after lunch."

* * *

Sherlock sat at the back of the courtroom by himself. He had taken to scanning the faces of the public, media people, jurors, and court staff to try to guess who would likely be a sex offender, pick pocket or just steal from the office stationery cabinet. He was bored with proceedings. The prosecution was doing well with their own forensic experts and they were unlikely to call on him. Again.

Sherlock sat up, leaned forward and with his elbows resting on his knees he put his head in his hands, then rubbed his hands through his hair vigorously, in an effort to stimulate his mind. He was going to stand up, yell out, "Boring!" and leave, when all of a sudden the courtroom door squeaked open. Many heads turned to take in the sight of a beautiful blonde well-coiffed young woman, in dark sunglasses and a smart suit with a calf-length skirt, supported on low heels. She slowly scanned the courtroom, then with a smile, walked down the back row to sit next to Sherlock.

"What the hell have you done to your hair!" he whispered as Violet kissed him on the cheek.

"That was the appointment I had," she replied, taking his hand in hers. "Do you like it?"

"No."

She continued anyway, propping her sunnies onto her head and ignoring his sulkiness. "It's 1945, Britain has .."

"Shhh!" berated an elderly gentleman sitting two rows in front of Sherlock and Violet, who had turned to face them.

Sherlock stood up, whispering to the gentleman, "I've seen the ending. He gets 12 years, out in 5!" and to Violet, "Lets go!"

They quietly made their way out of the courtroom holding hands. Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan, who were sitting on the other side, watched them leave.

"Don't you have to stay in there?" Violet asked, when they were out in the corridors.

"No, they don't need me. Looks like there will be a conviction soon enough. Now, what were you saying?" He stared at Violet, frowning as he took in her hair colour once more.

"Oh, nothing much. Just a preamble to the play I'm in."

"Oh, it's for your theatre production! I thought it was for me. I was going to tell you not to bother."

"Not to bother with what?"

"Trying to impress me by changing your appearance."

Violet stood close to Sherlock, and played with his shirt buttons. "I don't have to try to impress you; I already have you."

"Let's go home," Sherlock said, pulling Violet in tightly and whispering in her ear, "I think I have a new case."

* * *

"Silver Blaze, owned by Colonel Ross, trained by John Straker," Sherlock's eyes scanned the email. "Silver Blaze is missing, the trainer - found dead on the moor, by a blow to the head with a blunt instrument."

He continued reading, and frowning while Violet was in the kitchen making a salad. She looked at him now and then when he made some remark, but she soon realised that he was talking to himself, not her. She felt quite content, and was reflecting on how devastated she had felt the last time she saw him reading on his laptop and ignoring her.

Violet put the salad in the fridge for later, then put the kettle on. Sherlock had lit the fire, so she had brought her script downstairs to learn while Sherlock was studying the case. He was sitting in his armchair with his computer on his lap.

Violet flipped over a few pages in her script, stopping at the page full of sticky notes.  
"This is going to be tough," she thought.

"How would you like a trip to the country-side?" Sherlock interrupted her thoughts.  
"Where to?"  
"Dartmoor. Tavistock to be precise."  
"When?"

"Probably Sunday. John's real estate case should be all done by then - Saturday afternoon at the latest."

Violet was amused that Sherlock referred to it as John's case.

"I'd love to, but I'd have to be back by Tuesday. I've got rehearsals remember."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, thinking.

"That's fine. I should have it solved within an hour or two of us arriving," he stated, closing his laptop lid. "Did you put the kettle on?"

* * *

They'd eaten their dinner with Sherlock examining each piece, trying to recreate the crime scene of the slaughtering of the wayward lettuce, it seemed. He then spent the evening reading other emails which had come in during the day, and corresponding with their senders in order to solve their cases from the comfort of his armchair.

Violet continued examining the scenes she had to learn. In order to do this, she had to put herself in a very bad place - something she didn't want to do in front of Sherlock.

"I'm just going to study this upstairs," she told him. "I have to read it out loud, and I don't want to bother you."

"You won't bother me," he answered, closing his laptop lid. "Read it to me. I want to hear it. It's not as if I haven't seen you act before."

"I'll feel too self-conscious. It's still pretty raw, so I'll feel more comfortable by myself at the moment."

She stood up, with Sherlock looking at her quizzically, obviously not understanding.  
Violet bent over Sherlock and kissed him.  
"I'll be back down in an hour or so."

Sherlock re-opened his laptop, and continued typing an email. His mind had already moved on from Violet.

At about 11, Sherlock closed his laptop. Three cases solved in an evening. He was just about to say this to Violet, then remembered she was upstairs. He rose and put his computer down onto his armchair. He went upstairs and knocked quietly on her door, then he opened it anyway. Violet was sitting on her sofa with her knees up and her arms wrapped around her legs. She had her head on her arms and was obviously crying.

"Violet?" he asked tentatively.

She looked up. "I'm okay."

Sherlock hugged her for what seemed a long time.

"It's late. You have to get your beauty sleep. You've got a role to play in the morning."

* * *

"Sherlock! Sherlock?" John's voice floated throughout the flat.

"Quick, Violet, hide!"

Sherlock had sat bolt upright at the sound of his former flatmate's voice. They had slept in. Well, he had woken at his usual time, but Violet had a convincing argument for staying in bed.

With one quick shove from Sherlock, Violet tumbled off the side of the bed just as John knocked at the bedroom door.

"Sherlock, are you in there?" John opened the door slightly anyway, as he usually did when he used to live upstairs.

"What are you still doing in bed?" he asked in amazement, this being a highly unusual sight.

"I have a headache," replied Sherlock, pulling his sheets up higher.

"You never get headaches," replied John in disbelief.

"That's what makes this one so _singular_," Sherlock massaged his temples. "I had paracetamol. Should kick in soon."

"Okay... then," said John. "Can you put some clothes on? We're not exactly going to Buckingham Palace."

John went to shut the door, then re-opened it again.

"Oh, should I go up and knock on Violet's door?"

"Er.. no," said Sherlock, making a point of glancing at his clock which read 8:42. "Her alarm goes off at precisely 8:45am, after which she will rise and ... powder her nose. Then she'll be down to eat fruit loops from Mrs Hudson's kitchen."

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously at this amount of unnecessary information when a simple 'No' would've sufficed.

"Okay, I'll just go and ..er.. put the kettle on then."

John shut the door and there came a small voice down by the other side of Sherlock's bed which said, "Ow!"

"Sorry!" said Sherlock, to Violet's crumpled form. "I knew he'd come straight in."

Violet sat up, and began putting her pyjamas on while sitting on the floor.

"Why doesn't he knock?"

"He does knock. He just doesn't wait for an answer."

"That's a bit inconsiderate."

"I guess in all the years he's known me there's never been a reason for him to hesitate entering my room. I never sleep in and rarely use my room otherwise."

"Or bring women home."

"Or ...that."

"So tell me again why we're sneaking around?" Violet asked, feeling slightly annoyed.

"Because I need John to be focused this morning. We don't need him walking around sulking while he's supposed to be scaring away other potential buyers and trying to make an offer on the house," Sherlock replied, getting up and grabbing his second best dressing gown from the floor.

"Why would he be sulking? Wouldn't he be happy for us?"

"Happy for you, perhaps."

"Why not you?" Violet was confused.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and shot her a look, which she didn't understand at all.

"Well when can we tell him then?"

"I don't see why we have to announce anything at all. People can work things out for themselves through observation and deduction."

Violet frowned.

"And how am I going to get out of here with him in the kitchen?" Violet asked, standing up and running her hands through her newly peroxided hair.

"Don't worry. I'll send him down to fetch something from Mrs Hudson's kitchen."

Sherlock put his dressing gown on over his naked body. He peered out from his room.

"Oh John, there's no milk. Can you get some from downstairs?"

Violet heard mumbled complaints emanating from the kitchen.

"Quick, he's going!" Sherlock gestured to Violet to leave.

"Wait!" he whispered.

"What?"

"Goodbye kiss."

* * *

"Good morning!" Violet said to John and Sherlock as she entered the kitchen.

"Holy Mary!" exclaimed John as he took in the sight of Violet and her new 'do. "You look like a movie star!"

"Why, thank you! It's for the play I'm in."

"Oh, I thought that was a couple of months away?"

"Yes, but they're doing photos for the posters and programmes next week. ... Morning Sherlock," she added looking over at Sherlock with what she thought was a hopeful expression on her face.

"Oh no! This has got artificial colours in it!" Sherlock said in disgust, reading the back of the box of the new cereal he had stolen from Mrs Hudson, and pretending to ignore Violet.

Violet feigned a hurt expression.

This exchange didn't escape John's attention, and he felt sorry for Violet. He made a mental note to talk to her again about Sherlock's non-dating status.

"Well I'd better be off. So you two will be there about 15 minutes after me, is that okay?" John said, grabbing his coat from the back of a kitchen chair.

"Hmm?" said Sherlock, still reading the back of the cereal box.

"Oh, Sherlock, don't forget the wedding rings!" John yelled back through the door. And then he was gone.

Violet walked behind Sherlock as he sat at the kitchen table. She bent over, embraced him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Oh, hello!" he said, pretending to just notice her.

"You're an asshole!" she replied.

* * *

John was nervously checking his watch.  
_Violet and Sherlock better get a hurry on._

Thankfully there weren't many people looking through the house. It really was very dismal, thought John.

While he was inspecting the front room and tutting to himself about rising damp (just loud enough for the couple behind him to overhear) he spied Sherlock and Violet entering the garden. They were holding hands.

_Hmm, that looks cute, I guess_, thought John, slightly worried about how Sherlock would cope with Violet being so close to him.

He caught sight of them several times while he was 'inspecting' the place and talking to his fake adviser on the phone about being sure this was the house with the dodgy wiring (again, loud enough for another couple to overhear).

He witnessed:

-Sherlock and Violet in the living room, staring out of the window into the garden, with Sherlock hugging Violet from behind and nuzzling her ear;  
-Sherlock and Violet embracing in the nursery;  
-Sherlock and Violet laughing in the back garden, holding hands;  
-What looked like Sherlock kissing Violet in the kitchen... _that couldn't be right?_

This one puzzled John, and he started to feel very nervous.

The newlyweds then spoke to the estate agent and made a very pathetic offer on the house, compared to the generous one John had made earlier.

Time was running out, and Sherlock and Violet had left with Violet "in tears" because their offer wasn't high enough.

John reneged on his offer at the midnight hour, and the newlyweds hung around the end of the driveway waiting for their taxi while Sherlock soothed a "distraught" Violet.

Their scheme, however shaky it was, worked though.

Mr Estate Agent called Sherlock back to inform him in hushed tones that the vendor may be open to something and they could "come to some agreement."

* * *

As they made their way back to Baker Street by train, then by taxi, John tried very hard to read Violet's and Sherlock's body language.

But they barely interacted at all. Violet read her script and took notes most of the time. Sherlock read his emails and typed a few on his phone. Sherlock also received a phone call from _A Dodgy Loan Broker _and they had set up a meeting for the following Wednesday. Violet received a call from someone named Mandi and they spoke about their arrangements for going to see a show that night. Sherlock had looked slightly interested in this conversation though. Violet had then quizzed John about his wedding plans, while Sherlock scoffed and tutted now and then.

But as they were getting out of the taxi at Baker Street, there was just one look exchanged between them. Just the one, and that was all John needed.

Violet hurried up ahead of them to go to her bathroom, then get changed out of her dress into something more comfortable, she had said.

"How long, Sherlock, just so I know?" John had asked Sherlock as they made their way upstairs to Sherlock's flat.

"How long what?"

"How long have you and Violet been..." he held out his arms.

"Been what?"

"Oh come on, Sherlock. I'm not stupid you know."

"Wherever did you get that idea?"

"Are you going to answer me or what?"

They had entered the living room, and John watched as Sherlock took off his scarf and coat and hung both on the back of the door.

John narrowed his eyes.

"Where's your black coat?"

"Gone."

"Gone?" repeated John in disbelief.

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked without turning around, busying himself with filling up the kettle.

"Oh God," John remarked, lowering his head and shaking it. A look of embarrassed realization spread across his face. He looked up at Sherlock, who still had his back to him.

"She was there, wasn't she?"

"What?" Sherlock turned around.

"In the bedroom this morning, when I came in. She was there, wasn't she? Violet. Hiding in your ... closet, or bathroom."

John stared at Sherlock waiting for an answer.

"Not quite, but yes," Sherlock leant back on the kitchen bench and put his hands in his pockets.

"When?"

"Thursday night."

"Bloody hell! I knew it." John shook his head. "Just don't fuck this up Sherlock, for her sake. Just don't fuck up."

Sherlock felt quite wounded. He turned back to the tea things.

"Right, well I'm going downstairs to let Mrs Hudson know how things went, then I'll be off," John stated, and turned to leave through the living room door. He almost collided with Violet.

"What's happening - are we having tea?" she asked cheerfully.

"No, I'm off," John replied a little bluntly, then he stopped. He gently placed his hands on Violet's shoulders and said earnestly, looking into her eyes, "You don't have to put up with any of his bullshit."

Then he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and hurried on downstairs.

Violet looked at Sherlock, who had turned around as Violet had entered the room. She smiled at him and raised one eyebrow.

"Observation and deduction?" she asked, walking over to Sherlock.

He smiled wanly back at her. Violet hugged him, saying, "He'll be fine. He'll get over it."

Sherlock hugged her back and kissed the top of Violet's head, deep in thought.

It wasn't _John_ Sherlock was worried about.

It was himself.

First Mycroft, and now John.

How exactly _would_ he fuck this up?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Apologies to UK peeps. I live in Australia, so what I don't know about London and surrounds and can't be arsed to research, I just make up - if you haven't already noticed.

Also, I've been erroneously typing "fruit loops" instead of "froot loops". May correct that some time in the future.

Or maybe not.

x

**Chapter 13**

Violet was at the living room table sorting the mail which had come in on Friday. Sherlock was seated in his armchair, deep in thought. Violet thought he was on his way down, mood wise, because he had solved all his current cases, and couldn't work on the next one until tomorrow. She thought it best to leave him for a while.

Sherlock's cases, however, were the furthest thing from his mind. He was contemplating John's words from this afternoon, "Don't fuck this up."  
What was there to fuck up? How do you fuck up?

He knew he wasn't just with Violet for the sex. He enjoyed being around her: talking to her, finding out more about her past, and he didn't really mind her being interested in his and quizzing him about it. Although he still tended to limit his responses.

He liked making her happy, making her laugh, comforting her when she was upset (except if it was he who had upset her - then he would feel like an ass). He liked how she made him feel: desired, respected, cared for.

He had caught himself thinking as he lay in bed with her that morning that he didn't need cases, or anything else or anyone else; all he needed was Violet. He then had a slight panic attack at that thought. He didn't know where that had come from.

When he wasn't around her, there was that longing and that ache he couldn't really explain.

These last 40 or so hours had been life altering. He could see that now. But how to sustain that, without fucking it up.

Violet glanced over at Sherlock. His back was to her. She was contemplating opening another bit of fan mail. It was the same largish envelope as the one the other day which had contained that bizarre photoshopped photograph. Curiosity got the better of her, once again, so she took to it with Sherlock's letter opener.

_Thank you, Princess Souffle_, Violet thought, with a slight pang of jealousy.

And there it was.

Violet and Sherlock holding hands, gazing at one another as the waitress brought over their coffees in the pie shop. Monday night. The night of that kiss.

And just as bizarrely as before, it wasn't Violet's head: her head was replaced with that of a woman who had a grotesque smile - smiling at Sherlock, who was affectionately holding her hand.

Violet shuddered and turned the photo over.

Sherlock and Nora eat pie. xxx

_It wasn't pie, you weird stalker fuck._

Violet hastily slipped the photo back into its envelope. She added it to the bottom of the pile of other letters she'd already identified as fan mail. She decided not to put them in the fireplace just yet, in case Sherlock noticed the envelope that had been opened.

Should she tell him? Would he care, or be annoyed with her?

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked without turning around.

"What?" Violet asked, immediately feeling guilty.

"You've sighed three times in the last two minutes."

_There is no hiding anything from this guy_, thought Violet. She made her way over to her comfy chair, thinking quickly. She sat down, hugging the cushion.

_To lie or not to lie._

"I've planned to go to the theatre tonight," she began.

"So I heard," Sherlock commented, looking at Violet with mild interest.

"Well, a friend of mine, Alice, and I have always had this long-standing promise to go to each other's plays. So..."

"So, you're going to the theatre," he finished, gesturing with his hands that that was the obvious conclusion.

"Um... well, I'm going with Mandi and her..." Violet rolled her eyes, "... new boyfriend."

Sherlock shrugged, as a gesture representing "So?"

"And," Violet frowned, wondering why Sherlock was acting so obtuse, "... I was wondering if you'd like to come too."

Sherlock's face remained expressionless.

He was thinking, _I'd rather tear my own eyeballs out_, but what he said was, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yes, of course" Violet answered, and then her face brightened, "We could go out to dinner first?"

Sherlock's insides imploded at the prospect of sitting down to dinner and conversation with Mandi and her -boyfriend-. But instead, he calmly repeated, "Dinner?"

"Just you and I. We could meet the others at the theatre afterwards. But of course," she continued, looking sad again, "I'd understand if you won't want to come. I know it's not your thing. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

Sherlock's mind computed thusly (all in a manner of a few thousandths of a second of course): _Violet doesn't mind if I don't come, because she cares if I'm out of my comfort zone. Therefore I don't have to go. She will be fine with that. But... she's looking at me expectantly, one tear just poised to drop if I say no. Therefore she will be ecstatic if I do go. So I have to go in order to make Violet happy, not just fine. I'll just have to suck it up, as they so unimaginatively say. There you go John, that's called NOT fucking it up_.

"Of course I'll come with you," he said, and smiled meekly.

The tear dropped anyway, and Violet sprang over to Sherlock, climbed into his lap and kissed him, long and hard.

* * *

They were seated in a restaurant. It was rather fancy. Sherlock had made the booking after Violet asked him to find a restaurant near the theatre.

Sherlock studied the menu, while tapping the side of it with his index finger out of frustration and annoyance. Violet put her hand over his, and guided it down to the table, where she gently caressed it. Suddenly she had a flashback to the fan photo and nervously glanced around the restaurant, expecting to see a camera flash go off.

She looked back at Sherlock. He was still studying the menu. She wanted to lean over and kiss him for being so accommodating when he was clearly seething about the whole night.

She'd make it up to him. Perhaps next Saturday night they could visit the morgue.

Violet took her hand back. She had already decided what she wanted from the menu.

"What do you usually order in restaurants?" Violet asked, trying to help Sherlock come to a decision.

"I don't."

"Don't order or don't go to restaurants?"

"Both."

"Would you like me to order for you?" Violet asked, getting slightly impatient with Sherlock's abrupt responses.

"If you like. I probably won't eat it."

He was still looking down at the menu. Violet wanted to thump him, but instead she put her hand back on his again.

"Sherlock," she said softly. He looked up slowly. Violet gently took the menu out of his other hand so he couldn't look at it again.

"Something's bothering you, and it's nothing to do with cases. And I can't believe you're this upset about going to the theatre."

She stroked his hand again, and implored him with her eyes.

Sherlock regarded her for a moment, then blinked and suddenly looked down.

His voice sounded hoarse when he said, quietly, "I don't want to fuck up."

He looked back up at her, and Violet saw a flicker of hurt and vulnerability cross his face, before it suddenly disappeared and was replaced by his sullen look.

Violet slowly got up out of her chair, and went to stand over Sherlock. He looked up at her as she bent down and kissed him, passionately, amid the gasps and tutting of the other patrons. She gave him one final kiss, then gently stroking his hairline around the sides of his face, she whispered, "I won't let you."

He returned her kiss, just as deeply, ignoring the whispered comments directed at them.

"In that case, I'll have the chicken," he said finished, smiling at her.

Sherlock seemed in better spirits after that. He still only picked at his meal though, telling Violet he was full from breakfast. He then entertained Violet with the story of how John and Mary had met. Violet enjoyed hearing about it; she was growing quite fond of John.

They left the restaurant with about 15 minutes to spare before they were due at the theatre. Sherlock was feeling slightly apprehensive as he didn't want to let Violet down by being rude to her friends. Well what other people saw as rudeness he just saw as being efficient._ I have no interest in you so why would I want to hear all about your cat/child/job/thoughts on the latest celebrity's boob job._

Someone squealed as they entered the foyer of the theatre. Sherlock inwardly cringed.

"Vi! Your hair! Oh my God, Vi, look at your hair!

Violet let go of Sherlock's hand to hug the skinny redhead who had squealed.

"And hello!" the redhead said seductively to Sherlock after she had let Violet go. "I've heard all about you, Mr Holmes".

She grabbed him in a hug and kissed him on the cheek ... then pinched his bottom upon releasing him.

"You must be Mandi," Sherlock said, with his most charming smile, reserved only for those special ladies he used to meet in bars.

She grinned at him appreciatively.

"And this..." Mandi said with a flourish, "is Gavin!"

Violet and Sherlock thought they ought to gasp at the way Mandi had introduced Gavin, but he was just a run of the mill, straight out of the dumb hunk factory kinda guy.

Violet kissed Gavin on the cheek, and Sherlock gave him a very manly handshake.

"Ah, you work in a bakery?" Sherlock asked as they finished shaking hands.

Violet had resumed holding Sherlock's hand and she gave it a squeeze at this point. They had worked out a special signal: a squeeze on the hand if Sherlock was to _not_ say whatever was on his mind at that precise moment.

In response to Gavin's confused look, Sherlock finished "... Violet was saying."

Violet left Sherlock talking to Gavin while she and Mandi went to the ladies' room. Violet was anxious to get back to Sherlock quickly in case he got bored with Gavin's conversation, called him a moron and received a headbutt for his troubles.

Mandi was keen to hear all kinds of details about Sherlock now that he and Violet were "dating", but Violet felt their relationship was too unknown, although kind of special, to be chatted about so superficially, so she only gave vague answers.

They made it back to the boys - Sherlock had been performing the role of an active listener quite impressively for the last few minutes, but now he had a furrowed look on his brow. He did a sharp intake of breath. Violet thought, _Oh God, he's going in for the kill shot._

"Sherlock!" she called out sweetly.

Crisis averted.

Fortunately, it was time to go in. Violet and Sherlock hung back for a minute.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Sherlock remarked, looking concerned.

"You're doing fine. Just watch the play for entertainment. That's what people do," Violet reassured him, smoothing out the lapels on his jacket.

"I don't get why people pay to watch other people playing pretend on stage."

"It's to escape the monotony of real life," Violet replied sharply, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the theatre doors.

"For the audience or the actors?"

"...Both," she shot back as they showed their tickets and entered the darkened theatre.

They found their seats. Sherlock was relieved that they were in the row in front of Mandi and Gavin and not next to them.

The play started, and Sherlock took a deep breath in. Violet clenched his hand. Violet couldn't enjoy the play. She was too worried about what Sherlock was thinking. Sherlock couldn't enjoy the play. He thought it was a load of rubbish.

Something profound happened on stage. The audience laughed on queue. Violet smiled and turned to Sherlock. Sherlock was scowling, so Violet leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock thought this was a wonderful distraction, so he turned to her and kissed her on the lips, putting his arm around her in the process. They kissed again, a bit deeper this time. Sherlock was testing to see how far he could progress this whilst sitting in the audience of a darkened theatre, just like millions of adolescent boys before him. His hand stole in the direction of Violet's left breast. The sudden jerk on the back of Violet's chair gave him his answer. They turned around. Mandi's stiletto was perched on the back of Violet's chair and the redhead was silently and angrily gesturing to Violet to cut it out.

Smiling conspiratorially at Sherlock, Violet grabbed his hand and whispered, "Let's go!"

They awkwardly made their way along the row with Mandi hissing Violet's name as they went. Violet turned around, put her finger to her lips and said "Shh!" to Mandi.

They escaped through the exit door.

"Won't they be angry you didn't stay?" Sherlock asked once they were back in the foyer.

"The promise was to go, not to stay," Violet said mischievously. "And anyway, " she began, wrapping her arms around him, "I want you to take me to your most favourite place in London."

"Where's that?" Sherlock asked, quizzically.

"I don't know - you'll have to show me!"

* * *

"Down there?" Violet looked nervously at the manhole at the bottom of an abandoned office building.

"You wanted me to show you, but we don't have to go down," Sherlock reassured her.

"No, I do want to!" Violet's eyes lit up. "If that's where you go, I want to see it!"

Sherlock took out a torch from his coat and shone it down the hole.

"The King Alfred Lane tube station terminated here, part of the original London Underground, and closed in 1900," he began, "You can see the cast iron staircase which leads to the platform level. It's perfectly safe. You ready?"

"It will hold our weight?"

"Just fine," he smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you start down first, and I'll hold the torch above you."

Violet took a deep breath, then knelt down. Holding onto the sides of the manhole, she put her feet on the top step of the staircase. She slowly descended, holding onto the railing, and was relieved to hear Sherlock following her down, the torch light bouncing off the iron steps as he went. It wasn't a very long descent. She found herself on the darkened platform soon enough.

Sherlock joined her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, standing close to her and feeling for her hand.

"I think so," she whispered.

"You don't have to whisper just because it's dark," Sherlock whispered in her ear.

Violet laughed.

"Come on," Sherlock said, pulling her along, and shining the torch in front of them. "If we go down deeper, we can cross the Thames."

He shone the torch along the walls.

"Some of these tunnels were used as evacuation shelters during the Second World War. Most of them are used by the locals now though."

"The locals? As what?"

"Homes."

They walked in silence for a while, with Violet wondering where the "locals" were.

"How do you know about this? Why do you come down here?"

"This - is - London!" Sherlock exclaimed, dropping Violet's hand and raising his arms out wide.

Violet started to become worried when they took several turns, descended through narrow staircases, passed through numerous doors and crossed disused railway tracks. The tunnels thenselves became narrower. They didn't see or hear anyone.

"Where are we now?"

"The Northern line is over there," he indicated right. "Where do you want to go?"

"Home?"

Sherlock chuckled to himself.

_He's enjoying this_, Violet thought.

They continued on for a few minutes.

"Listen."

Sherlock stopped in front of Violet and put his hands on her shoulders. Then he turned the torch off.  
Violet gasped.

"Shh!" Sherlock whispered harshly. He wrapped his arms around Violet. She listened hard, the dark enveloping her, but she closed her eyes anyway. Her breathing was the most prominent thing she could hear, followed by Sherlock's heartbeat as she pressed herself against his chest.

And then she heard it. The low rumble of the London Underground: the part that was actually in use.

Sherlock turned his torch back on.

"So we'll go that way." He indicated right.

They walked on, eventually coming to another doorway, and ascended a very long staircase. The tunnel they came out into was very dimly lit. There was obviously light coming in from somewhere. Sherlock switched off his torch, so their eyes could adjust to the dim lighting.

"Through here."

They passed through a doorway that Violet hadn't even noticed was there. They were in a small alcove, with another tunnel beyond it. The walls of that tunnel would intermittently be illuminated as trains from a tunnel criss-crossing the old line rumbled past.

"And this is the end of our tour," Sherlock beamed.

Violet breathed out. She was so relieved, but still completely lost. They were still in the dark, mostly, and still underground.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock came closer to Violet and put his arms around her.

"You probably should've asked me that twenty tunnels ago."

She could barely see him. She could hear him breathing as he chuckled quite close to her ear, so she put her hands behind his head and directed his lips down to hers.

She kissed him because she was relieved they didn't have to go any further, but she also kissed him because he had showed her he was vulnerable, just fleetingly at dinner, but it was enough for her to desire him even more than she had before.

Sherlock responded to Violet's kiss, seeming to know what she wanted, right here, in this dark, damp, abandoned place.

Sherlock gradually backed Violet up against the nearest wall and continued kissing her. He ran his hands down her body, then left off kissing her, tutting here and then.

"What are you doing - patting me down for concealed weapons?" she whispered.

"Trying to find something to grope... how many layers are you wearing?"

She laughed. "It's cold out. What do you think?"

"Well how am I supposed to get near you?"

"Here." Violet shed her coat, then lifted her skirt up to her waist and in the dark guided Sherlock's hand into her tights. "There, that's all I need you to ... Oh! ...Sher-lock!"

He found where he needed to be for the moment.

He kissed her on the mouth deeply, then used his tongue to kiss down her neck, while keeping his other hand busy working its own rhythm. He slid his free hand under several layers : _corset-looking outer vest thing, cotton shirt, silky thing and ah, there they are!_ He slowly caressed Violet's breasts. Violet moaned and grabbed Sherlock by the hair, making him kiss her on the mouth again. Violet tugged on Sherlock's shirt, pulling it out of his trousers. She gasped again as Sherlock continued to work the heel of his hand against her.

Violet had grasped the back of his hair, and panted "Sherlock... I need you ... inside me ... now!"

This had the desired effect on Sherlock. Unfortunately, he took his hands off Violet, leaving her gasping for air. He quickly dropped his coat, then his jacket to the ground, then crouching down, he grabbed the top of Violet's tights.

"These will have to go," he whispered, pulling them down. "What! You're wearing boots!" he exclaimed as he encountered some resistance.

He tugged at one boot irritably. Violet almost lost her balance.

"Tell me which leg you're going to lift up next time!"

"Why do boots have zips!" he yelled in frustration.

The boots were dislodged; stockings discarded.

Both Violet and Sherlock fumbled at his belt and trouser zip.

"No!" he brushed her hand away.

"Condom," she whispered.

"FUCK!" he yelled. "Wallet. Jacket pocket. WHERE'S MY FUCKING JACKET!"

His voice echoed off the curved walls of the tunnel beyond.

Violet sensed Sherlock frantically sifting through clothing articles near her. She couldn't see anything, until the tunnel opposite them was briefly lit up by the passing train some distance away. Sherlock was able to find his jacket in that moment. Violet could feel the cold air on her legs, slightly dampening her mood.

_This is not as romantic as I thought it would be._

Wallet found, packet retrieved.

Sherlock removed the condom from it's wrapper as Violet unzipped him. Sherlock's trousers dropped to the ground and he stepped out of them. Violet reached into his boxers and felt how hard he already was for her. She slipped the condom on; he breathed out, and she felt all the tension from the last few minutes leave his body. The darkness intensified the silence except for their breathing, which served to slow down their movements. Everything seemed less frantic now as they kissed again.

Sherlock was able to lift Violet up, using the wall as leverage. She wrapped her legs around him. With one quick thrust of his pelvis, he entered her.

"Oh... God... Violet."

As the tunnel opposite periodically lit up, Violet was pressed against the cold, stone wall again and again.  
She listened to his breathing, his face beside hers: a breath out, for every thrust. He was doing all the work.

"Let me down a bit," she whispered. She need purchase to be able to join him; to pull him in deeper, harder inside her.

Sherlock moaned as Violet moved against him.

"Mmm, God.. Violet!"

The tunnel lit up. Violet slid one hand underneath Sherlock's shirt and glided it across to his nipple. She used her finger to tantalize him, brushing and flicking across the nub. Sherlock gasped and started kissing and biting along Violet's neck and shoulder.

"Sher-lock!"

They were in darkness again, their breathing deeper and faster as they moved together.

"Yes, now... Sherlock... ," Violet's hands moved to his back and she raked her fingers down his spine. "Harder, Sherlock!"

She was almost there.

Sherlock drove harder, his own excitement mounting, "Violet!"

"Oh, ...my .. God...Sher-.. " Violet grabbed Sherlock by the back of his hair as she came. The waves of her climax hit her as the tunnel lit up once more. She gasped, seeing a figure silhouetted against the entrance to the tunnel. She was still coming. The figure was standing there.

"Sher-"  
"Violet! ... Oh ... fuck ... Violet!" Sherlock came at the same time they were enveloped in darkness again.

"No!" Violet tried to scream but all the air had left her lungs as Sherlock still rocked into her and her own orgasm finished.  
"Violet!" he breathed into her ear, as she started to shake and tremble beneath his grasp.

She tried to push him away, but he had finished and held her tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't stop. Didn't you...?"

She couldn't speak now, looking wildly over his shoulder where the tunnel would be. Where the figure would be. Only it was pitch black.

"Violet?" he said softly, pulling away from her. "I'm sorry ... did I hurt you?" he added when only a sob answered him.

The tunnel lit up. Sherlock could just make out her face. She was staring, horrified behind him. He quickly turned. Nothing there, but the illuminated tunnel wall.

"There was somebody there!" Violet sobbed. She was terrified.

"Shhh, it's all right, " he reassured her, kissing her. "There's nobody there now. I'll take a look... just let me..." He bent down, searching.

"Have you seen my trousers?"

Violet remained motionless.

All she could think of was the silhouette.

_Nora_.

* * *

_Please review! I'm feeling kinda lonely here!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Detective Inspector Gregory will meet us at the station, before taking us to King's Pyland, the training stables, where Colonel Ross will be waiting for us."

Violet smiled wanly at Sherlock. They were seated alone in a first class carriage on their way to Plymouth via Exeter, and would then take a bus from Plymouth to the small village of Tavistock, alighting at the discontinued railway station there.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked, for what would be the 14th time since her scare last night: their first -_date_-.

Whenever Violet would go quiet and look pensive, Sherlock concluded that she was thinking about the figure in the tunnel. Nothing he could do about it. He tried to reassure her several times that it was just a homeless person who probably couldn't see anything in the dark anyway.

_More likely a fucked up stalker weirdo with an infrared camera_, Violet had thought at the time.

"The usual inhabitants don't normally go down that far into the tunnels where we were. That guy probably just got lost, or was curious at the ... noise ... and came down to investigate."

"Or someone followed us."

"No one could've followed us without _me_ noticing, Violet," he smiled at her, "Besides, they would've easily become lost after the number of turns and detours we took. I mean, even I didn't know where we..." he stopped, realizing his inadvertent admission.

"What?" Violet glared at him. "Were we lost, Sherlock?"

"Only momentarily," he smiled sheepishly at her. "You only have to stop and listen for a minute and head in the direction of the noise of the underground."

Violet stared at him in disbelief, but then, in spite of herself, she managed a wry smile.

_I should just get over myself,_ she thought. _He's taking me on a romantic getaway: a little country inn, that boasts cottages in the country-side, oh and to investigate a murder and find a missing horse. Not every girl could be so lucky._

"This will be nice. Just the two of us," she stood up and went across to his seat. Sherlock put down his computer, took her hand and grasped Violet's waist to guide her down into his lap. They kissed for a minute or two in the silence of their private carriage, before Sherlock broke away.

"That's enough of that. You go sit back over there," he said good-naturedly, waving at the seat opposite. "Working here, remember? I can't greet D.I. Gregory with a hard-on now can I?"

He opened his laptop again.

Violet pretended to sulk, and went to sit back down on the seat across from Sherlock.

"So, a murdered trainer and a missing horse?" she asked him, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

"John Straker, the trainer, was found dead some distance from the training stables at King's Pyland, a cataract knife in his hand, and a fatal wound to his head. The horse, Silver Blaze, owned by Colonel Ross, was missing from its stall. D.I Gregory has theorized that Straker heard something in the middle of the night from out in the stables, then he picked up the knife which his wife said he had on his dresser and went out to investigate. Gregory thinks he probably disturbed the horse thief. He never returned, and one of the stable hands found him the following morning. Dead."

"And what do _you_ have?" Violet asked.

"Village gossip and some photographs." Sherlock held up a bundle of crime scene photos he had received from the country detective. He resumed studying something on his laptop.

Violet pulled out her script. With a sigh, she turned to the last scene. She studied it for a while, now and then stopping to stare out at the carriage window. The odd tear found its way down her cheek. Eventually she looked up. Sherlock had been watching her for some time.

"What are you reading about?" he asked, gently.

She wiped her tear away. "The last scene. It's a tragic ending."

"Can I read it?" he asked, closing his computer and placing it down beside him.

"The last scene?"

"No. The whole thing," he replied, stretching out his hand to take it.

Violet looked puzzled. "Why?" she asked, handing the hefty manuscript pages to him.

"Because I want to see what's holding my girlfriend's attention, and making her cry so frequently."

Violet's heart skipped at the word _girlfriend._

She watched as Sherlock examined the title page, frowning.

"_Rose's War,_" he muttered.

"I play the character of Rose," she volunteered, feeling quite apprehensive that her next couple of month's work would soon be under the scrutiny of Sherlock - someone who took a derisive view of the whole theatre arts scene.

She stood up. "I'm going to the buffet carriage. Do you want anything?"  
He silently shook his head, already absorbed in the first scene.

Violet left him to it. She didn't want to be around him: to hear him scoff or tell her something was absurd. Although, she thought, she couldn't stay away for the full 85 minutes - the running time of the play. She hoped that his reading would be faster, or that he would flip through it quickly in disgust.

She was only gone 15 minutes. She came back with a newspaper and hoped to find something interesting to read in it, to hold her attention for goodness knows how long Sherlock would be.

After a while, Sherlock murmured, "A kissing scene."

Violet sighed, waiting for it.

She didn't have to wait long.

"So how do you pretend to kiss somebody on stage?" he asked in all seriousness, studying her.

"It's very mechanical," she answered quietly.

He looked down again and continued reading. Violet couldn't stand the tension.

"I'm going to the toilet."

Sherlock kept reading.

Violet went down the carriageway and entered the tiny toilet cubicle. She sat in there, elbows on knees, head in hands, thinking, _Fuck! Please, Sherlock, don't be like Nick. I couldn't stand that again._

When she came back to their carriage, Sherlock still had a very studious expression on his face. He slowly turned a page.

"Another kissing scene," he said matter-of-factly.

"It's a romance," she offered. "A ... tragic romance."

"Aren't they all?" Sherlock deadpanned without looking up. He turned another page.  
Violet couldn't stand it any longer.

She stood up, and moved over to Sherlock, gently taking the script out of his hands.

"Here, let me," she said.

Sherlock looked up at her, curiously. She sat down next to him, putting the script on the seat behind her. Placing her hands around his neck and leaning in to him she said, "It goes like this: Rose meets Charles, they flirt, they kiss, they have lots of lingering angst-ridden moments and stolen glances. He goes to war, she thinks he's been killed, she spends a lot of time hanging around returned soldiers, helping them, entertaining them - no, not in the way you think. She ends up ... being sexually assaulted by a group of American soldiers in Berlin. She's there because she heard that Charles was still alive. When they finally re-unite, he finds she's changed, and of course thinks it's her fault she got raped. He thinks he came back for nothing, he ... shoots himself in the head with his service revolver. She ends up working in a brothel. The End."

Violet stroked the back of Sherlock's hair, as she waited for his response.

"And that's... meant to be entertaining is it?" he asked, curiously, not snidely as she had thought he would.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"Do you want me to come and watch you," he asked, studying her face.

She dropped one hand from around his neck, and fiddled nervously with the buttons on his shirt, while looking down at her hand and not him.

"Well, the rape scene is ... confronting ... for me, anyway. It's done tastefully off-stage, but I would rather not know you're in the audience ... listening to me."

She looked back up at him.

He smiled a little, "Okay then. That's fine," he whispered, and then kissed her gently.

Violet regarded him for a moment. She touched his cheek and smiled. Violet stood up, feeling slightly elated. She picked up the script and sat back down on her seat opposite Sherlock. He gave her another faint smile, but was then interrupted by his phone buzzing.

He scoffed, and hit the reject call button.

Mycroft.

* * *

They lay naked in their little cottage bed, legs and arms entwined: the afterglow of a passionate, intense lovemaking session. It was moments like these that Sherlock wished he had taken up smoking again.

After disembarking from the bus from Plymouth, Sherlock had gone to King's Pyland without Violet. She had opted to check in at the inn in the village first, citing an unreasonable fear of horses, and therefore anything to do with them, including stables, hay and shit.

Sherlock had been what seemed like hours. He said D.I. Gregory and Colonel Ross had insisted in going over all the details of the case even though it had all been clearly explained in the email. He said Colonel Ross was an arrogant prick who was clearly pissed off that the local law enforcement had decided to seek help from an outsider - an apparent big shot detective from the city. And not even one who was officially on the police force at that.

D.I. Gregory thought Sherlock would benefit from visiting every inch of the stables in case he had missed something. There was only one thing Sherlock was looking for in order to solve the murder case, and it wasn't at Silver Blaze's training stables, Sherlock thought to himself.

Colonel Ross' wife had the cook prepare them lunch, although she herself made excuses and kept busy in her parlor. Over lunch Colonel Ross made several snide remarks about Sherlock not really possessing sufficient skills to investigate the matter.

Shortly afterwards, Colonel Ross had left them to continue on without him. He had stormed off and left the house in a huff after Sherlock had subtly implied that he perhaps needed to go back to his study to start his afternoon session of drinking.

Colonel Ross' wife had later insisted that Sherlock borrow one of their cars to drive himself between the stables, and the village, instead of having to rely on the Detective Inspector or the Colonel over the next few days.

"Oh, that would be why he was at the village pub in a foul mood then," Violet had commented, after Sherlock had finished describing his encounter with the Colonel.

He narrowed his eyes.

"And what were you doing in the village pub?" he asked her.

"Having lunch. That's what normal people do, Sherlock. They eat food for sustenance and nourishment. The pub was recommended to me by Mavis."

"And Mavis is?"

"The lady at reception. I had a cup of tea with her to find out about the village gossip. Anyway, I agree that Colonel Ross is an arrogant prick, and a creepy bastard too."

"Why?" asked Sherlock, already not liking where this conversation was going.

"He tried to pick me up."

"At lunchtime?"

"Yes, and not even on a Thursday."

Sherlock ignored that remark.

"What did he do?"

"He came over and asked me where I was from, and if I was a movie star just down for the weekend, incognito and after some anonymous fun [wink], away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi."

Sherlock groaned.

"And then he started stroking my arm with his thumb," Violet shuddered, remembering his touch.

Sherlock's blood started to boil.

"I told him I was here with my fiancé, looking for country churches for our wedding."

Sherlock calmed down slightly, but frowned at the mention of the word _wedding_.

"Hmm, I may have to re-adjust my thinking on this case," Sherlock mused, leaning back and grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

"I thought you were going to have it solved within hours of getting here?" Violet asked, as Sherlock checked his phone. She had turned her back to him, and he cuddled up behind her, with his phone in front of both of them.

"I will once we get out onto the moor."

Sherlock's phoned buzzed with a message from Mycroft asking Sherlock to call him.

"That's the third message. Why are you ignoring your brother?"

"He probably wants to tell me that the family dog has died or something equally insipid," he responded, pressing Delete.

"Don't you like your family dog?" Violet asked, turning her head to look up at Sherlock. Sherlock looked down at her as if she were stark, raving mad.

Ignoring the look, Violet saw an opportunity for a new conversation topic to explore. She rolled over on to her stomach so she could look directly at Sherlock.

"What are your parents like?"

"Dead."

Sherlock got up off the bed, while typing on his phone.

"Oh Sherlock! I'm so sorry. How did that happen?" Violet sat up, hugging the sheets and watched as he walked towards the dresser.

"Plane crash." He picked up a piece of paper amongst many he had tossed there when he'd entered the room and examined it.

"How awful! How old were you?"

Sherlock put the piece of paper down and walked off to the bathroom, shrugging, "Dunno. 5, 10, 15." He waved his hand dismissively and closed the door.

Violet thought this was very odd behavior, even for Sherlock. She reached for her phone on the bedside table and sent a text message to John. John had messaged her on Saturday afternoon, apologizing for being abrupt after learning about her and Sherlock's relationship, and let her know she could contact him any time she had concerns about Sherlock.

VIOLET: [Are S's parents alive?]  
JOHN: [Yes why?]  
VIOLET: [He said they died in a plane crash]  
JOHN: [Yeah he's always saying things like that. I heard they died doing missionary work in Nicaragua. There was a roadside bomb. Ignore him. Ask again in 5 yrs time]  
VIOLET: [tks x]

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, but still barefoot, just after Violet had turned the in-room telly on.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked, looking quite refreshed.

"Sounds lovely," Violet replied, switching off the tv. "Where to?"

"Out on the moor. We'll drive to the edge of the National Park, then walk. I thought we could investigate the area where they discovered the trainer's body."

"So I should get dressed then."

"That would be preferable, yes," Sherlock replied, sitting on the bed to put his shoes on.

Violet disappeared into the bathroom. Sherlock stretched back onto the bed to grab Violet's phone from the bedside table.

_Now, who were you texting, Violet, while I was in the bathroom... Ah, John... No, it wasn't Nicaragua, John, it was Mozambique. Nicaragua was the boating accident._

* * *

Violet lay stretched out on a granite boulder, soaking up the last warmth of a fading afternoon sun, which was uncharacteristic of Dartmoor at this time of year.

Sherlock had been pacing up and down the grassy area upon which Straker's body had been found. The area had been cordoned off with police tape, the remains of which hung limply from a shrub as a result of the strong winds blowing across the moor. Sherlock stopped pacing now and then to look around at the surrounding area.

Presently he caught sight of the blonde figure sprawled atop a boulder, as if she were the human offering in a sacrificial ceremony. Thankfully she was fully clothed. Sighing, he strolled over.

He frowned and stood at the edge of the boulder where Violet's head rested, looking upside-down at her.

"I am working here, you know," he advised her, with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I know, that's why I'm leaving you to it," she replied pleasantly, looking up at him.

He bent down and kissed her upside-down on her lips, but only briefly to her great disappointment.

"Come down here," he said, his eyes shining brightly, "and I'll show you the real crime scene."

He started walking downhill, towards a hollow some distance away.

Smirking, Violet rose from her granite day bed. She loved to watch him when he was like this: the way he worked with intense concentration, stopping to enthusiastically relay the details to her, ensuring she always followed his train of thought so she could share in his excitement (and marvel at his brilliance, she also thought).

But the time she reached the hollow, Sherlock was already kneeling by a firze bush, extracting something out from underneath it with his pen. Dangling by a piece of thick, black elastic was a small torch.

"The headlamp," Sherlock announced, grinning.

"How did you know that was there?" Violet asked in wonder.

"Because I was looking for it. Knew it had to be here, somewhere," he replied, standing up and retrieving an empty evidence bag from inside his coat pocket. He slid the headlamp into it, and sealed the top, then put the bag and his pen into his pocket.

"He needed it to help him undertake his criminal activity, and it wasn't in the list of evidence the police had retrieved. No torch found on or near the body."

"You knew the murderer left a torch behind?" asked Violet, still not following.

"No. Straker."

"The victim? John Straker, the trainer?"

"Yes, but not so much the victim as the perpetrator of a crime."

When Violet frowned, Sherlock continued, "Tavistock dot community dot net. A nice little social website frequented by the more gossipy and techno-savvy of Tavistock's little old ladies. An evening of research on the site from the comfort of my own fireside armchair the other night revealed more about the goings-on in this region than a week sipping cups of tea in Mavis the Receptionist's parlor."

"Oh, is that what you were doing. I thought you were looking at porn," Violet commented facetiously.

Sherlock furrowed his brow and scolded Violet, "Please pay attention, Ms Hunter!"

"Sorry, sir," Violet obeyed. She straightened her back, set her shoulders square, and put her hands behind her as she fell into step beside Sherlock as they walked back up the hill.

Sherlock smiled down at her, then reached behind her and took one of her hands in his.

"Straker was almost financially ruined, according to idle tongues. And on a seemingly unrelated note, a handful of sheep around the district had become lame. Just one or two here and there, over the course of a few months."

"So... Straker was fucking everyone else's sheep, prostituting himself for a few quick bucks, when one night he was murdered by... a ... a jealous ram!"

Sherlock stopped walking, and took Violet's other hand in his. Facing her, he said forlornly, "I had high hopes for you, Violet Hunter. I'm sorry, but it has to end here."

He bent down and kissed her, to which she responded enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing hard against his body.

"Hmm, Sherlock Holmes," she began, breaking apart their kiss, "Is that a headlamp in your pocket, or..."

Sherlock whispered in her ear, "Not long to go now - we're on the home stretch. Just stay with me a moment longer."

Then he kissed her on the cheek and they continued walking, holding hands.

"The presence of the cataract knife was a curious one: a delicate instrument, unusual choice as a weapon of defense. Do you know, that a slight nick in the tendon of a horse's ham would cause it to become lame? A cut done subcutaneously would leave no trace. So, a lame horse, a desperate bankrupt trainer. More than one way to fix a race, Violet!"

"He was fixing a race by laming the horse he was training?"

"Oh good, you follow. And the sheep?"

She thought for a moment.

"He'd been practising his technique on them!" Violet surmised, beaming at Sherlock.

"Exactly. He led Silver Blaze to the hollow that night. He wanted to be away from the stables so nobody would hear him or the horse. He would need a light source though, hence the headlamp. But he didn't do it where his body was found. The light would've been seen from the house. He needed to be downhill, so - the hollow."

"Why was his body where it was? Had somebody discovered what he was doing and attacked him?"

"This is the best part," Sherlock grinned, his eyes dancing. "The murderer and the missing horse are one and the same."

He waited until Violet's thoughts clicked into place.

"The horse kicked him in the head when he went to cut it!" she cried.

"And took off across the moor in its panic! Straker was wounded, but didn't die straight away. He was probably trying to get back to the stables when he collapsed where he was eventually found, then died from his head wound soon afterwards."

They had stopped walking, having almost reached the car.

"Sherlock Holmes," Violet remarked, reaching for him, "I'm going to have you every way imaginable tonight."

Sherlock was taken slightly aback, but then he brought Violet into an embrace and replied, "I'm so glad you're here with me instead of John!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Making love in front of the fire, in a cozy cottage: it had to be done, as cliched as it was.

Sherlock sat up, reached for the fireplace poker, and used it to prod a couple more logs into the centre of the fire. He replaced the fire iron onto its stand, and watched as the flame grew higher. Satisfied, he lay back down on his side, with his back to the warmth, facing Violet. She was resting her head on one arm, and smiled at him.

"You know what we should do," he began, brushing away Violet's fringe which had fallen over her eye, "to end this mad condom scramble everytime..."

"Get them out first?"

"No. That would remove the spontaneity."

"I think hauling the mattress, sheets, pillows and quilt off the bed kinda gave it away that we were going to have sex in front of the fire. Remembering to bring the protection over wasn't going to make it any more contrived."

"I'm not talking about just then, I mean every other time. In the future."

Violet heart quickened. Sherlock was talking about them having a future. She almost felt teary.

"We've only been having sex since Thursday. Are you being a bit presumptuous?"

"Only Thursday?" Sherlock leaned back and picked up the box of condoms behind him. He peered inside. "There's not many left."

"That's because that's your packet. You've used them all up on your girlfriends."

"Girlfriends?" Sherlock repeated, putting the box down and snuggling in closer to Violet. "You're my girlfriend. I don't have any others."

He kissed her deeply. Violet put her hand up to tangle in the curls at the back of his head and returned his kiss.

After a little while she broke away.

"You didn't ask me if I'd be your girlfriend," she said mischievously.

"People don't ask. It just happens...doesn't it?" Sherlock was unsure if he had missed something.

"You were supposed to ask John to ask me if I liked you."

Sherlock smiled at her. "John. Good old John. Full of helpful advice."  
Then his smile faded a little.

"This isn't just a -_thing_- for me, Violet. It's not just ... sex."

She put her hand up to his face. "I know. It isn't for me either."

He kissed her again, and this time Violet rolled onto her back, pulling Sherlock on top of her. They kissed with Sherlock slowly moving his body along hers, until he felt quite hard against her.

"Are you ready for another round?" she whispered to him, gently pressing her hips into Sherlock's.

"Yes, are you?" he murmured into her hair.

"Mmm."

Sherlock raised himself up on his elbows, and reached for the box.

"This is the second last one."

"We can ask Mavis for some more."

* * *

She knew what he was getting at. She maintained his gaze. He had kept his hand on the side of her face after brushing her hair away, and he started gently caressing her. She loved this - his touch. Violet closed her eyes.

"You want us to get blood tests done," she whispered, breathing out and keeping her eyes closed - enjoying his caress. "For HIV."

She opened her eyes again.

He moved his face closer to hers.

"Is that okay?" he whispered.

Violet nodded, trying to read his thoughts behind his eyes.

"When was the last time your blood was tested?" she asked him.

"Two weeks ago."

"Okay?"

He nodded. "Negative. You?"

"Before Nick and I started getting serious. But not since then."

"And?"

She nodded. "Negative."

He continued staring at her, but his face remained impassive.

"Did you always use protection when ... when you ... went out?" Violet asked Sherlock, thinking that when he was in the throes of passion he was unable to think sensibly.

"Always," he replied.

"Always?" she queried, some doubt in her voice.

"Well, you've thrown me out a bit. I used to always be in control. And now..."

He leaned in and kissed her. Sherlock leant back again, thinking.

"What about before your last boyfriend ...before Nick?"

Violet shook her head slowly. Her eyes stung.

"Jake didn't always give me a choice."

She looked away from him. She couldn't meet his gaze right now. It wasn't just that. Not the sex being forced upon her. Not just the relationship with Jake. She had to tell him the other thing.

Violet let out a shaky breath. Her eyes filled with tears. She wasn't prepared for this conversation. It had all come too soon.

"Sherlock," she said, her voice trembling. She didn't know if she could do this. Or how he would react.

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead. Sherlock wanted her to stop. He knew what she was going to say. He didn't want her to. Not yet.

"Sherlock," she whispered again, tears falling more fully now. _Let me just get it out._

He wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"I know, Violet, I know. It's okay," he whispered, kissing her again on the forehead.

She looked up at him, and put her hand on top of the one he still held against her face, and gently moved it off.

What is he saying?

"What? How could you know? ... What do you know?" she asked him, exploring his face.

Sherlock sighed, steeling himself.

"That you had an intravenous drug addiction."

She stared at him for a moment, in disbelief. Shock, actually.

Her face dissolved again, and she slowly sat up, and turned away from him. She hugged her knees and sobbed into her arms. Sherlock sat up and moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Shhh, it's okay, Violet" he whispered, "It's all right."

"No. It's not!" she sobbed, trying to shrug him off, but he held her tightly. "You can't know about things like that! You can't! You can't just work it out! You don't get to figure me out!"

"I know and I'm sorry."

Sherlock brushed her hair away from the side of her face. He put his forehead against her temple.

"Just stop it. Don't work me out, Sherlock. It's not fair, you can't notice things about me."

Violet still tried to move out of his embrace, but Sherlock held fast.

"I'm sorry, Violet. I can't switch it off. I just notice things. I didn't mean to upset you."

Violet turned into his embrace and cried into his chest. He kept holding her, kissing the top of her head, and rubbing her back.

"It's okay," he kept murmuring. "Its all right."

He brought the sheets up around them both.

She had fallen asleep. Eventually. They had lain back down, Violet on his chest, and he had held her to him until her sobs died down. Her breathing grew shallower. Then she was asleep.

Sherlock stared into the fire and sighed.

_Nearly fucked up there_, John's voice inside his head was saying. _Shut the fuck up, John, I've got this._

* * *

Violet woke to the sound of Sherlock bustling about. She looked up. It still seemed dark outside. Was it still night?

Sherlock came over and stood above her, illuminated by the dying fire. He was fully dressed, coat and scarf included. He was pulling on black gloves as he knelt down beside her.

"I have to go and see a man about a horse," he whispered.

"In the middle of the night?" Violet asked, sleepily.

"It's nearly 5. They get up and train the horses at this hour. Go back to sleep. I'll be back before you wake up properly."

Sherlock kissed Violet on the forehead and was gone. It didn't take much for Violet to fall back into a deep sleep again.

She felt as though she had only just closed her eyes when she was woken by the sound of the cottage door being unlocked. She groggily sat up. Sherlock came in, looking slightly ruddy in the cheeks. His eyes were glinting with mischief.

"See, I told you I'd be back before you woke up again."

He dropped his coat onto a chair, and started loosening the scarf around his neck as he strolled over to Violet in front of the fireplace. She slid back to lean onto the sofa that they had pushed out of the way to accommodate the mattress.

"What time is it?" Violet asked, and arranged the sheets to cover her naked body. She watched as Sherlock sat on the edge of the mattress, taking his gloves off.

"Almost 7:30."

He leaned over her, with one hand resting on the other side of her outstretched legs.

"I found Silver Blaze," he said, grinning. He brushed her stray hair away and leaned in to kiss Violet briefly on the lips. "Good morning!"

"Your face is cold," Violet replied, holding her hand up to his cheek.

"I'll be warm in a minute," he said kissing her again. He let his hand brush across the sheet, until it came to the outline of one of Violet's breasts. He gently started caressing it through the thin sheet, letting his thumb stroke across her nipple until he could feel it was erect.

Presently, there came a soft knock at the door.

"That would be breakfast," Sherlock whispered, nibbling Violet's ear, and kissing her neck.

"I'm not hungry," Violet murmured, grasping the front of Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock suddenly straightened up.

"Can't leave little old ladies out in the cold."

He stood up, and strolled over to the door.

_Timing, Sherlock,_ Violet thought, as she pulled the quilt over the sheet and slid back down under the covers.

"Ah, Mavis, how lovely! Let me take that from you," Sherlock oozed charm, as he retrieved the tray from the receptionist.

"Enjoy your breakfast Mr Holmes!" Mavis whispered, in case she woke the "sleeping" form in front of the fire.

"Thank you!"

Sherlock shut the cottage door, balancing the tray on one hand. He brought it over to the fire and set it down on the coffee table which was now at the foot of the mattress.

Violet peeked out from under the quilt.

"Is it a hot or cold breakfast?"

"Hot," Sherlock replied, lifting the cloche to check.

"You'll have to eat it cold then. You've got some business to finish first."

* * *

"Colonel Ross is one seedy bastard," Sherlock said, in between mouthfuls of toast and bacon. "Ugh, this is disgusting."

"Serves you right. The breakfast was ill-timed, and you left me all needy."

Violet stabbed at the cold scrambled eggs.

"What's Colonel Ross done now?"

"Not now. Years ago. I was just at the Mapleton stables, owned by a Silas Brown. Ross seduced Brown's daughter some time ago. There was a fair bit of animosity as well as the usual rivalry between the two stables. Brown found Ross' horse wandering the moor that fateful morning and decided to keep it as compensation for the ruining of his daughter and to exact revenge on the Colonel."

"That sounds very Victorian."

"But there's more..."

Sherlock outlined the escapades of the village's most seedy of characters, and the evidence of this decadent behavior collected by Brown and a few other residents. Sherlock was inclined to leave the horse as it was: as missing, and to just explain the mystery of the death of John Straker as an accident by his own misadventure.

"But I'll save explaining the case to Gregory until tomorrow morning. Let's have one more night here at the expense of Colonel Ross."

Sherlock grinned at Violet.

* * *

"Tell me about one of your cases, Sherlock. I like to listen to your voice - it's really soothing." Violet yawned, resting her head on Sherlock's chest. "Just talk about anything," she added when he didn't respond.

"I'll tell you again about the Science of Deduction," he began, in a low voice. He knew this was just a ploy by Violet to get to fall asleep listening to his voice. He didn't mind - he felt quite content just holding her.

Soon enough, Violet was fast asleep. Sherlock stayed awake, staring into the fire, and occasionally reading messages off his phone. He thought he had dozed off now and then, but really, his mind was too active for any real sleep.

"It's 3 o'clock. Have you been awake all this time?"

Violet sat up, caressing Sherlock's back as he lay on his side, staring into the fire.

"Can't sleep. My brain - it's too active."

He turned, lying down on to his back again and put his arm around Violet's waist.

"What are you thinking about?"

Violet lay down, resting her chin on Sherlock's chest and looked up at him.

"I don't know. My mind is racing - the thoughts are fleeting and random."

Violet put her hand up to Sherlock's furrowed brow, and gently stroked her fingers across it.

"You're very tense. Close your eyes."

Sherlock closed his eyes, and breathed out. Violet continued slowly brushing her fingers back and forth across his brow line.

"Stop frowning," she whispered, stroking her thumb over the creases above Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock slowly breathed in and out again, the muscles on his face relaxing.

"That's better."

Violet let her fingers drift over to Sherlock's hairline along his temple, then they gently glided across his forehead, and slowly down to the temple on the other side. They traced that path again once more, then she took her hand away, and softly kissed Sherlock on the cheek. She lay back down again and rested her arm across Sherlock's chest.

"Keep doing that," Sherlock whispered, with his eyes still closed, "It's... it's relaxing."

Violet repositioned herself so that her head was propped up on one arm. Using her index and middle fingers, she started slowly tracing a line from the middle of his brow, across one eyebrow, and down into the smooth skin of Sherlock's temple. Her fingers traced the sharp rise of Sherlock's cheekbone. Violet watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall as his breathing became slower as she traced his cheekbone. Her fingers continued their descent into the hollow of his cheek, and slight rise again at his jawline. Sherlock sighed. Using only one finger now, Violet traced a slow path down Sherlock's neck to his collar bone, and with a light touch drifted across the collar bone to the indentation below his neck. Her finger followed a leisurely path across the other side of his collar bone, then continued its unhurried journey upwards along his neck.

_What are you thinking about Sherlock? What's making your mind race so much?_

Using both fingers again, Violet continued soothing Sherlock. Her fingers glided across his cheek and brushed across his lips. His whole face was completely relaxed now; his breathing even and light.

Back they went across the other cheek, and made a slow u-turn to begin their ascent to the bridge of his nose. They glided up toward the middle of his brow, and here Violet gently caressed there to ensure no new creases found their way there.

They followed a new path along Sherlock's other brow, then Violet traced a slow circle around Sherlock's eye.

Violet stopped. Sherlock was fast asleep. His brain quiet at last. Violet stared past Sherlock to watch the dying flames. They reminded her of that Thursday night, when she had sobbed at what she thought was Sherlock's cruel rejection of her. She sighed. Is it too early, she thought, too early in their relationship to tell him she...

Looking back at Sherlock's peaceful face Violet saw a single tear escape from the side of his closed eyelid.

She leant over and kissed it away.

* * *

"Oh, lovely, Mrs Hudson's set out some lunch for us," Violet exclaimed as they entered Sherlock's rooms.

"You go ahead and eat. I never eat when I'm working on a case."

"You don't have a case."

"I have two. I've been working on them since the train journey back from Plymouth. You had your face buried in that script of yours... well, when you weren't nattering to little old ladies in the dining car."

Sherlock unpacked his computer from his notebook bag, and walked over to the living room table.

"Mail," he said, pushing the pile of envelopes out of his way that Mrs Hudson had collected for them that morning and the previous day.

"And a welcome back to you to," Violet muttered as she walked over to pick them up. She took them back to the kitchen where she perched herself on a bar stool to eat lunch.

She sorted them into piles without opening them.

"Bill, bank statement, bill, fan mail, fan mail, client."

Of course the bills and bank statements were obvious. And now she recognised Nora's envelope immediately.

She sighed, wondering what was in store for her today.

_Let's see. Nora seems to post them a few days after taking the photo. Today is Tuesday, so ... Saturday or Sunday. Sunday we were in Dartmoor, so Saturday it is then. Great._

Violet opened the envelope without the aid of the letter opener this time. She closed her eyes as she pulled out the photo, then peeked at it with only one eye open.

It was fairly tame. Sherlock had his arm around "Violet" as they walked out of the theatre on Saturday night. They were walking towards the photographer.

"That means she was right in front of us. But where?" Violet muttered to herself.

She turned it over.

Sherlock and Nora at the theatre xxx

"Why do you keep opening that particular fan's mail?" Sherlock asked, while still typing on his laptop.

Of course he had noticed all this time. Why wouldn't he?

"Because they're kind of entertaining in their weirdness factor," she replied, bringing the photo over to show Sherlock.

"Mmm, nice hair," he said. "So she was in the coffee shop across the intersection in front of the theatre. You can see the reflection of the window in the corner of the photograph. Looks like she had a pot of tea."

He returned to his typing, having lost interest.

Violet sighed, and placed the photo in the fireplace.

"Well, I'm going upstairs to rest. I've got my rehearsal tonight, remember?"

"Mmm," replied Sherlock, frowning at his screen.

Violet came up behind Sherlock and put her arms around him. She whispered into his ear, "And don't come up, there's no condoms left, so I'll just have to take care of myself."

She kissed his cheek and exited the living room.

Sherlock watched her walking up the stairs.

He yelled after her, "How do you feel about a trip to Glasgow?"

* * *

Sherlock was a bit disappointed to learn that Violet was going to spend the evening in the company of another man - embracing him, perhaps even kissing him.

"We're not up to that scene yet. Anyway, you'll need to get used to me not being here. Our proper rehearsals start next week - Monday to Friday, 10 til 3."

"Aren't these proper rehearsals?"

"Well, yes, but we're crammed into a tea room, instead of the rehearsal room at the moment. There were other productions running, well one still is actually. But we'll have full use of the theatre next week, for 5 weeks."

Sherlock scowled.

"And anyway, you're off to Scotland."

Sherlock rose from his armchair, where he'd been sending emails. He put his notebook down on the seat of the chair, and strolled over to the kitchen where Violet was busy packing snacks and filling up her water bottle.

"We could leave on Thursday, instead of tomorrow afternoon, so you won't miss tomorrow night's rehearsal."

He came up behind her while she was at the sink and put his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck. "I think they have cottages and fireplaces in the Scottish Highlands."

She turned around to face him.

"Photoshoot, Friday, remember? Honestly, I tell you these things and they're not sticking are they?"  
She tapped his forehead. "You're going to make me late. Go away!"

She pushed past him to grab the snacks on the table.

"Oh, you're angry with me. Because I didn't come upstairs and finish you off?"

"Don't flatter yourself. If you must know, I actually fell asleep."

He came over and embraced her tightly, so she could feel him.

"We could go to my bedroom now," he whispered, kissing her on the side of her neck.

"Too little, too late. I have to go."

She tried to get out of his embrace.

"Don't go. Stay," he whispered, showering her with kisses all over her neck.

"This isn't fair, Sherlock."

Violet finally got herself out of Sherlock's arms and kissed him chastely on the cheek.

"I'll see you after 10."

Then she dashed out the door and down the stairs before he could respond.

* * *

Violet didn't get to see much of Sherlock on Wednesday morning. She had slept in, and he had gone to the meeting with the Dodgy Loan Broker and D.I. Jabez from the fraud squad. Violet then had a fitting for her WW2 costume at the theatre later that morning. She ended up having to meet Sherlock at Paddington Station before he left for Heathrow.

"Don't go. Stay," she murmured into his ear as he embraced her.

Sherlock grinned.

"I'll solve the case within an hour or two of getting there."

"I've heard that before! Don't go."

"Violet, we're in a public place," he whispered.

"Don't care," she whispered back, nibbling his ear.

Sherlock peeled Violet off him and held both her hands.

"I'll be back soon. Gotta go."

He kissed her on the cheek, smiled and then gently kissed her on the lips.

And somewhere, in amongst the 7,000 or so people passing through Heathrow at that hour, a virtual shutter clicked.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Just clench your fist, Violet."

Sherlock ran his gloved index finger along the inside of Violet's elbow.

"Can you feel any?" Violet asked.

"Yes, it's fine. I'll just clean it first."

He wiped her skin with an alcohol swab.

Violet looked around at the laboratory. She felt uneasy. Sherlock had sweet-talked a young nervous-looking clinician into letting them use the lab.

Sherlock removed one cover of the vacutainer and placed it inside the blood collecting container, screwing it in. He then removed the protective cap from the end of the needle and inspected it.

"Ready?" he asked Violet.

"Yes," she replied in a small voice.

Holding the needle bevel side up and at a low angle, Sherlock inserted the needle tip through Violet's skin, and into the vein.

Violet breathed out, steadying herself for the rush, and when it didn't come she cried out in frustration.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking up at Violet's face momentarily, before looking back at her arm.

Sherlock pushed the vacutainer further into the blood collecting container, creating a vacuum, through which Violet's blood now flowed.

"I said are you all right?" Sherlock asked more forcibly. "Is it hurting you?"

"No," Violet whispered.

Once the tube had filled, Sherlock removed it, shook it once, and replaced it with a second tube.

"Nearly done," he said softly this time.

Once the second tube was halfway full, Sherlock released the tourniquet on Violet's upper arm. He then removed the second tube, shook it once, and placed it down on the tray.

He looked up at Violet's face for a moment and realized she had been crying.

"You shouldn't have watched," he said, picking up a piece of gauze and holding it over the entry site. He quickly pulled the needle out of Violet's arm and said, "Here, hold this."

"It wasn't that," she began, while holding the gauze to her skin.

He removed his protective glasses, and leaned over to give her a kiss.

"Would you like a lollipop?"

Violet smiled. "A kiss is just fine... Sherlock, I was expecting a ... a heroin rush, just for a split second there, when you pushed the needle in."

Sherlock regarded her for a moment.

"I thought you'd had a blood test before now?"

"It was one of those finger prick things."

Sherlock leant over and gave Violet another kiss. He looked down at Violet's arm and said, "Just hold that for a minute, then you can help me."

Sherlock put his protective glasses back on, removed his gloves, washed his hands again, then put on a fresh pair. He busied himself arranging all the items on the tray.

"Gloves, eye protection," he said, pointing out the items to Violet. Go wash your hands over there, then put these on."

"Um, Sherlock, am I allowed to be doing this?"

"Don't worry. I'm not allowed to do this either."

Sherlock instructed Violet which tubes to hold, or push in, while he himself had inserted the needle and held it to his arm. During the filling of the second tube, they were interrupted.

"Okay, just remove the tourniquet..." Sherlock began.

"Ah, Molly said you were in he... Oh bloody hell Sherlock!"

"John! How nice. Just hold the gauze here Violet."

John watched in horror as Sherlock pulled the needle out of his vein.

"Perfect!"

"I bloody well told you not to do this on your own," John busied himself washing his hands.

"I wasn't alone. I had Violet."

John put on a pair of gloves and started cleaning up the sharps and swab packets. Violet saw him glance at the gauze strip on her arm.

"You know," John began, pulling his gloves off and tossing them into the bin once he'd finished cleaning up, "normal couples don't do this on a Sunday afternoon."

"Oh, what is it that normal couples do?" Sherlock asked.

"Tandem bike riding through the park, going to cafes with friends, visiting parents, that sort of thing."

"Sounds a bit dull."

John shook his head and started reading the pathology request form that Sherlock had filled out, while Sherlock stored the blood samples.

"HIV, Hep B, ah, you don't need the Hep C tests." He looked over at Sherlock. "That's only if you were a drug user and shared needles, or..."

John stopped talking as Sherlock gave him the "you'd better shut up now, John!" look.

"What?"

"I'm going to wait outside," Violet stated, gathering up her things. "I'll leave you two to ... chat."

"Is there something you want to tell me Sherlock?" John asked in a loud whisper, even though Violet had left.

"Don't worry, you weren't to know Violet was a heroin addict."

"What?"

"Can you see to it that these tests are put through at a high priority? I signed your name. Thank you Doctor Watson."

Sherlock left, with John staring down at the lab bench and shaking his head in disbelief.

* * *

Violet rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder. They were sitting on the couch in Sherlock's living room. Sherlock had his computer on his lap and was reading emails. Violet was happy to have him back. Her days had been busy with a photoshoot for Rose's War's promotional materials, going to the theatre to see another play, and having coffee with her co-stars, but when she was back at the flat she had felt lost. She didn't realize she would miss him so much even though he had been in Glasgow since Wednesday, and had arrived back that Sunday morning, sending her the odd text message in between.

He had surprised her in the shower. She had been for an early (early for her) Sunday morning jog. Sherlock's taxi had pulled up after she had left, and she didn't notice he was in his flat when she sprinted up the stairs to her room to shower and change.

It was after they had to retreat to Violet's bedroom after a brief encounter in the shower to retrieve a condom, and then some time after that, that Sherlock decided it was time to get the blood tests out of the way. Hence them ending up in a lab at St. Bart's on a Sunday afternoon.

Violet stretched, yawned, and got up from the couch.

"Tea?" she asked, making her way over to the kitchen and putting the kettle on.

"Mmm," replied Sherlock, not looking up.

Violet laid out the cups, saucers, then grabbed a teaspoon out of the drawer. She turned around slowly, then leaning against the kitchen bench, she asked, thoughtfully, "So why didn't you ever pay for sex? Wouldn't that have been easier for you?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

He was still typing, but frowning at the same time.

"Go to a brothel, or, you know, someone off the street? The ladies of the night?"

Violet couldn't help but smile.

"You're joking aren't you?" Sherlock answered, still typing.

"It's a reasonable question, given what you were after."

Violet turned back around to put the tea bags and sugar into the cups. She watched the kettle for a moment, tapping her fingers on the bench waiting for it to boil.

Sherlock had come up behind her. He put his arms around her and whispered in her ear, "It's all about lust."

Violet turned around, as Sherlock pressed Violet against the kitchen bench.

"Lusting and being lusted after."

He nibbled at her ear, then kissed her neck. Violet put her hands on either side of Sherlock's hips and pulled him in closer.

"Now, I've got your eggs ...oh!"

Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock straightened up but didn't turn around.

Mrs Hudson gasped, and put her hand to her cheek, "Oh, that's a bit much! And at my time of life!" And she fled back downstairs.

"Observation," said Violet.

"...and Deduction," finished Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock scowled. Violet was off to a rehearsal again. It was only Tuesday.

"It's every day this week. I told you!"

Sherlock lay back on the couch. He was wearing his grey pyjamas. No case, and now, no Violet.  
He reached for the fruit bowl, felt around a bit, and retrieved ... an apple. He sat up.

"Where's my tennis ball?" he demanded.

"I confiscated it."

Violet was tossing Nora's unopened fan mail into the fireplace. She walked over to Sherlock as he took a bite of the apple. Violet bent over him, kissed him on the head and said, "Now play nicely today. Mrs Hudson said that Mrs Booth left in tears yesterday during morning tea."

"Well she was banging on about how her husband is so thoughtful that he goes bowling to leave her and her knitting group in peace on a Thursday night. I told her he was doing Ms Dalrymple down the road."

Violet smiled.

"I'll be back by 4."

Sherlock flopped back down onto the the couch. Absentmindedly he tossed the apple into the air, smashing it onto the ceiling.

* * *

The rest of the week was pretty much the same.

Dull, boring, repetitive.

Except for the evenings.

In the evenings, Sherlock tried several inventive ways to entice Violet into the bedroom. They didn't always work.

The monotony of Friday was broken by a visit from John. He had the morning off.

"Got your test results," John stated as he entered Sherlock's living room. He addressed the prone figure on the couch with two cushions on his head.

"Is Mrs Hudson gone?" came the muffled voice from the couch.

"Um, yes. Do you want them?" John replied, holding out an A4-sized envelope.

The cushions fell off. Sherlock sat up.

"Want what?"

"Your blood test results. I had to get Molly to do them in the end as you didn't have a patient number."

"Oh, I thought I put one?" Sherlock asked quizzically, taking the envelope from John.

"It didn't have enough digits."

"Oh, you should've just added a few more." Sherlock responded waving his hand dismissively.

John sighed, then said through gritted teeth, "We have procedures Sherlock."

"Oh, procedures are dull... well did you look at them?" he asked John, opening the end of the envelope.

"Er... yes."

"Well, what were they?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows at John.

"Um... negative... all ... negative."

"Good," Sherlock replied, tossing the envelope onto the coffee table and standing up.

"Aren't you going to have a look?"

"You just told me the results. How many degrees of negative are there?"

John sighed and shook his head. Sherlock wandered over to his laptop and sat down at the table.

John walked over to him. "You know, you're lucky the results weren't positive. If Violet had gone to a clinic at least there'd be literature and counseling and support..."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John.

"Why would she need counseling when she has me?"

John scoffed.

"Well, you're just lucky she loves you. There's not many people who would put up with your kind of 'counseling'."

Sherlock froze. He looked at John with a furrowed brow. His voice deepening, he rose and said to John, "Interesting choice of words, John. _-Love-_. Such a convenient word."

"Oh God," John said, hanging his head and instantly regretting his word choice. He knew what was coming.

"There's been an interesting study on the biology of love. There are three stages, John. Lust being the first: the physical desire, the sex drive..."

"Sherlock."

"... the release of testosterone and estrogen. Chemicals, John. Lust promotes mating - ..."

"Sherlock!"

"... the future of the human species depends on it. And then there's attraction, John. Your so-called romantic love..."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock stopped. He had been slowly pacing around John. "What?"

"Please, for the love of God, tell me you've never said ANY of those words to Violet."

"Why?"

"Why?! Because that would not be an acceptable response for ANY human on the planet in a relationship to hear the words 'future of the human species' to their declarations of love."

Sherlock frowned. "Violet has never 'declared her love' for me."

"I wonder why," John muttered.

"It hasn't come up in conversation," Sherlock responded huffily.

"Well if it does, Sherlock, promise me ... promise me ... you'll never repeat a word of your biology of love nonsense to Violet."

"Violet likes to hear my postulations," Sherlock replied sulkily.

"She won't like this."

John continued, when Sherlock looked wounded, "There's only one way to respond when Violet says 'I love you', Sherlock. Just one. Four words - even you can memorize them... 'I love you, too.'

Sherlock frowned. "Doesn't sound very imaginative."

"It's not supposed to sound imaginative, Sherlock. Four words. Practice them in a mirror if you have to... I - LOVE - YOU - TOO."

"Oh John," came Mrs Hudson's voice from the stairwell, "that's so lovely when you two boys can openly talk about your feelings..."

John hung his head in frustration. "Mrs Hudson..."

"Mrs Turner from next door was just saying..."

"Mrs Hudson! I was just telling Sherlock to be more romantic with Violet."

"I'll just be myself," Sherlock said dismissively, walking over to Mrs Hudson in the kitchen.

"What have you got there," Sherlock asked the landlady who had started unpacking groceries on the kitchen bench, "More plants?"

"Violet asked me to get more salad ingredients. She wants to make sure you're eating healthily."

"I had an apple."

* * *

On Saturday night Violet wanted to get Sherlock out of the house. He had had a couple of 'email cases' which he had solved Friday night, and was back to being despondent on Saturday morning.

They ate dinner at a French restaurant around the corner. Violet was only able to entice Sherlock into eating the soupe du jour.

"It's just vegetables in water," he said, staring down at the contents in his bowl.

"Yes, that's what soup is."

After their lack-lustre meal they walked back to Baker Street hand in hand, with Violet looking around occasionally for a paparazzo/stalker.

"Sherlock, what would you do if one of your previous 'dates' saw you in a nightclub chatting up a new conquest? Did you ever get slapped in the face for not calling back?"

Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to be reminded of those days anymore.

"I never visited the same bar in close succession, and never gave my real name or occupation."

The concept of Sherlock using a fake name amused Violet.

"What names did you choose?"

Sherlock started feeling quite self-conscious.

"I don't know, I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember? Think of one."

"Violet, I don't remember."

Violet stopped walking, and Sherlock stopped to face her.

"You do remember. You just don't want to tell me."

"It's the same thing," he replied irritably.

"Not it's not. One is not remembering, the other is blatantly lying."

Violet crossed her arms, and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"So I don't want to tell you."

"And so you just lied. Just like you didn't want to tell me about your parents, so you made up some crap about them being dead."

"How was I to know you were going to run off and text John?"

Violet was incredulous. "You checked my phone."

"I could hear you texting while I was in the bathroom," he replied matter-of-factly.

"And instead of asking me, you just sneakily checked my phone."

Sherlock shrugged as if to say "Where's the problem in that."

"So now we have trust issues," Violet muttered as she continued walking.

Sherlock followed along in silence for a bit.

"Hang on a minute," he said, reaching out to hold Violet's arm. They stopped, and faced each other once again.

"How is me not wanting to talk about my parents different to you not wanting to talk about Copper Beeches?"

"That's a different matter entirely," replied Violet, feeling quite sensitive now that Sherlock had mentioned her precious childhood memory.

"How different?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, challenging her. "You didn't want to talk about Copper Beeches, and you've made up some fantasy about castles and fairies."

"It's completely different!" Violet stalked off ahead of Sherlock.

_That's not a logical argument_, thought Sherlock.

He walked faster, in order to catch up to Violet.

"Hold on," he said taking her arm.

She turned around to face him. Her face was all teary.

"And now you're crying again. You know that's not a very effective response."

"What! Fuck off, Sherlock!" she yelled, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

A look of enlightenment crossed Sherlock's face.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, eyes widening. He smiled, then chuckled to himself, as he walked around Violet in a slow circle. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"What's the date today?" he asked, tapping away.

Violet was still fuming.

"What!?"

"The date. I want to put it into my phone."

"Why?" Violet demanded, feeling a bit disconcerted with Sherlock's slow circling of her.

He looked at her, condescendingly. "Illogical thought processes, random tears, argumentative. You're premenstrual. I want to put it in my phone to remember for next month, " he finished, tapping away.

Violet exploded at this point.

"You fuckin' ... FUCKTARD!"

She stormed off.

"So, today is the... 11th."

Sherlock finished tapping away at his phone.

He slowly started walking again in the direction that Violet took, thinking. _Fucktard isn't even a word._

Violet made it back Baker Street well before Sherlock. She was crying angry tears by then. She reached 221 and stopped abruptly when a figure emerged from the shadows of their building.

"Vi!" he said, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He stretched out his arms.

Violet studied him for a moment, her heart sinking. Bloodshot eyes, slightly swaying, dishevelled clothes.

"Nick," she said, disappointedly.

Nick grabbed her in a bear hug, dropping his cigarette on the ground. Violet tried to push away.

"Nick, don't. You're drunk," she said softly.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered back, trying to pull her in again. "I've been ... to AA!"

"Nick, please, don't. Just go home. I'll call you tomorrow okay?"

Violet pushed him away a little more.

"Violet?"

Sherlock's voice made Nick remove his arms from Violet.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine, Sherlock," Violet replied, stepping back from Nick. "Nick was just leaving."

"We're fine here, mate. We're fine, aren't we Vi? Fine, fine, just fine, just fine," Nick replied, swaying a little over to Sherlock. "Who are you - are you the new bloke? The new F-FUCK?"

Nick came up quite close to Sherlock, and Nick being half a head shorter than him, he peered up at him.

"You don't look like much? Are you rich?"

"You heard Violet. You should just leave."

Nick turned to Violet.

"Are you fucking him for his money? Is that right Vi? Doesn't Jake pay for your little love nest anymore?"

"Nick! Just go!"

Nick gently put his hands on Violet's arms and pulled her into an embrace.

He whispered in drunken desperation, "I'm the only one to ever love you Vi! The others are all just using you. You're beautiful, beautiful..."

Nick moved his hands to hold Violet's face.

"Look at you! You're my soulmate. Remember? Highschool, just you and I."

Nick pressed his forehead to Violet's.

Violet let out a sob, "No, Nick."

Sherlock grabbed Nick by the back of his jacket, pulling him off Violet and slamming him into the black railings which surrounded the basement windows.

"You will leave, now!" Sherlock said quite menacingly.

"Sherlock, don't..." Violet began.

"You should go inside," Sherlock said much more calmly to Violet.

"Yeah, go inside Vi. The men are talking."

Sherlock watched as Violet walked to the door. He loosened his grip on Nick's jacket. Violet turned to look at them both. Sherlock couldn't quite read the look on her face. Disappointment? In him or in Nick?

She unlocked the door and went inside. Nick put his arm around Sherlock.

"Hey, has she fucked her ex-boyfirend yet? Has she fucked him? Her ex-boyfriend. Yeah. Oh no..."

Nick looked momentarily confused.

"No, coz that would be me... No, her ex-ex-boyfriend. Jake! Just wait til Jake gets to town, then she'll FUCK YOU OVER!"

Nick pointed at Sherlock's chest to punctuate the words.

Nick whispered conspiratorially to Sherlock, "Hey, have you met Jake yet? Because Jake's the Man! Yeah, Jake is THE man!"

Sherlock pulled himself out of Nick's drunken grasp. "You will leave here, right now, or..."

"You can't do anything to me that she hasn't already done. Because she'll FUCK YOU OVER! Do you hear me - FUCK YOU OVER!"

Nick swaggered off down Baker Street muttering to himself, occasionally punctuating the relative silence with a "FUCK YOU OVER!" shout.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Sherlock thought that Violet would be sitting down crying somewhere. He checked all of his rooms, but she wasn't there. With trepidation, he went upstairs to her room. Without knocking, he slowly opened the door. There was no sound of sobbing or sniffing from within. He looked through to her bedroom door, which was ajar. She was inside, facing the dresser and brushing her hair.

Angrily.

When she noticed Sherlock in the reflection of her mirror, she came over to the doorway and said, "No, I don't want to talk about it. I could just make some shit up and lie, but I couldn't be bothered."

Sherlock took a breath in, about to say something in reply, when Violet added, "I want to be alone tonight."

She shut her bedroom door on him.

Sherlock frowned. _That didn't go very well._

He needn't have worried. In the early hours of the morning, Violet stole down from her room, climbed into Sherlock's bed and snuggled up against him. He stirred briefly, kissed the top of her head, and wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

"Hello," he whispered to the sleepy blonde curled up in his arms the next morning.

She raised her head.

"Hello."

Sherlock smiled down at her and kissed one cheek first, then the tip of her nose, and then her lips. Violet parted her lips and tenderly kissed Sherlock back. She moved slowly up so Sherlock rolled onto his back pulling her on top of him. He ran his fingers down her back as they continued kissing with increasing fervor. Then as Violet straddled him, Sherlock helped her lift off her pyjama top. Violet bent down to kiss Sherlock again. She pushed his shirt up and moved so that her breasts brushed against his exposed chest. He gently caressed one of her breasts with his hand.

"Oh, Violet," he murmured as she moved to kissed his neck, nibbling and biting it.

Violet slowly sat up again, brushing her hands across Sherlock's chest and nipples. He moaned, before sitting up to join her and they resumed kissing more passionately. Violet slowly rocked her hips back and forth feeling Sherlock growing hard beneath her.

Violet helped Sherlock take off his pyjama shirt properly, then Sherlock grasped her hips, and gently lowered Violet to the end of the bed. He peeled off her pyjama shorts, kissing her naval, then across her hips, as Violet gasped and moaned. She tangled her fingers into his hair and bent her knees, spreading her legs wider as Sherlock kissed her there, using his mouth and tongue to bring her almost to the edge.

"Sherlock.. oh my ..Guh.. not yet."

Violet moved her hips, and gently pulled at Sherlock's head to encourage him to come back up. She wanted to feel him inside her first. He didn't need any more encouragement. She could sense him removing his pyjama pants, but he hadn't stopped pleasuring her yet, and she moaned, almost ready. Then he was back on top of her and kissing her neck, before lifting her hips to him and swiftly entering her, making Violet gasp.

Violet panicked. "Sherlock!"

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered. "'S already on," he breathed into her ear.

Sherlock thrust harder and faster into Violet as her bewilderment of where the condom mysteriously appeared from disappeared from her mind.

"Sher-"

"Violet... "

They clung together moving as one as the waves of their orgasms rocked them, making them shiver and moan, then finally collapse.

Sherlock lay down beside Violet, breathing heavily. Violet lay there for moment before sitting up to check that Sherlock was actually wearing protection.

"Didn't you believe me?"

"I wasn't sure if you were just saying... in the heat of the moment."

"I slipped it on when you were otherwise occupied."

He grinned at her, then got up to go to the bathroom.

Violet had rearranged herself at the head of the bed when he came back. He slipped under the covers next to her. Another lazy Sunday morning.

Violet turned to him.

"I'm sorry about last night. I was a bit ... hormonal."

Sherlock reached out and caressed Violet's hair.

He smiled at her.

"I may be like that for a couple more days," she warned, "So it might be best if you just ignore me."

"Is that advisable?"

Violet laughed, "No, I guess not."

"So, I'm fucked either way."

"I guess so."

* * *

The week started off well. Lestrade had called. A real, live murder case! Violet was disappointed she couldn't accompany Sherlock down to the riverside to investigate. He was out all day Tuesday, and most of Tuesday night. Violet only had him for a brief encounter in her bed in the early hours of Wednesday morning, before he was off to the morgue.

Violet was sorting the mail on Wednesday morning, before heading out to her rehearsal. She was very disciplined these days in NOT opening Nora's mail, and they did come in every three or so days.

She stopped when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Morning, John!" Violet said brightly, as he entered the living room.

"Violet, hi," John awkwardly walked over to give Violet a kiss on the cheek. "How's the rehearsals going?"

"Just fine! A bit wobbly, but we'll get there in the end," she added, grinning.

"Oh good, good," said John, feeling a bit self-conscious. "So, ah, did you get the blood test results okay?"

"Yes, thank you John. I really appreciate that you rushed those through, despite how we did them."

"Oh, that's okay. But you do know about," he cleared his throat, "the three month thing?"

"Getting tested again? Yes, of course. I've put the date in my phone. I won't let Sherlock forget."

Violet smiled at John which made him feel less uncomfortable.

"So, um, Mary would love to meet you. How about you and Sherlock come over for dinner on Friday night?"

Violet grinned at him. John smiled back. They were both thinking the same thing about Sherlock and his unwillingness to participate in any conventional social customs.

"Of course we'd love to!"

* * *

"Ah, now look what you've made me do, Sherlock. I've actually had to come and visit you."

It was Thursday afternoon, and Sherlock was sorting through the crime scene photographs for the riverside murder, frustrated that he had missed something.

And now he had been interrupted by the arrival of his older brother.

"And how is the Diogenes Club, Mycroft?"

"It's fine. I have a case for you. Another one on the continent. I do know how you so look forward to those."

"Not interested. I'm too busy."

"The riverside murder case? Bit obvious."

Sherlock frowned at Mycroft. There was definitely a Big Brother element to him.

"A number of Chelmonski paintings have gone missing. Well these are the case notes. I'm sure you would like to go over them at your own leisure."

Mycroft held out the file to Sherlock who just stared at his brother. Mycroft replaced the file onto Sherlock's desk.

"But let me just say, Sherlock, they will be expecting you in Warsaw by tomorrow afternoon. You can read the file on the flight tomorrow morning. You may like to take on this case, to give you a bit of, how should we say ... breathing space, from events which are about to erupt here."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mycroft's cryptic statement.

"What are you talking about, Mycroft?"

"Let's put the Polish case aside for the moment."

Mycroft slowly unwound the string on a file box that Mycroft had also placed on Sherlock's table. He opened the lid, and took out a large black and white photo.

"Do you recognize this man?"

Sherlock quickly scanned the photo.

"Business man, early to mid 30s, expensive watch, designer suit and sunglasses. Leaving a club in broad daylight; he's either the club owner or there doing business, probably of a criminal nature, otherwise why would you be interested. The club looks like it's in Manchester, judging by the street sign."

"Jacob Venucci. Name ring a bell?"

"He was in the press for a bit, a couple of years ago, some scandal he was never pinned for. I don't usually pay attention to idle gossip."

"You should. Organised crime syndicate. People like Jacob Venucci - we know about them, we have them under surveillance. Unfortunately we've never been able to directly relate any of the crimes back to Venucci."

Sherlock shrugged.

"Now this photograph was taken in Manchester just over three weeks ago. Recognize the brunette?"

Sherlock froze. It was a photo of Venucci and Violet. They were embracing. Sherlock's stomach churned as he made the connection. Violet's _Jake_. Jacob - _Jake_ Venucci. She had gone to Manchester for the weekend - for her brother's engagement, she had said.

Sherlock kept a cool exterior.

"So she has friends in Manchester. So what?"

"Huh, yes, very friendly," Mycroft commented as he placed another photo on top. Violet and Jake were kissing.

Sherlock's face remained unemotional, but he was feeling sick inside. _So_, he told himself, he and Violet weren't together then. She told him she hadn't had sex in three months, so this was just a friendly kiss.

With an ex-boyfriend.

An ex-ex-boyfriend.

_Has she fucked her ex-boyfriend yet?_

"Now this next one is not a recent photo. It was taken again in Manchester, but it was two years ago."

The photo showed the back of a very naked female with long blonde hair, sitting astride a man whose face Sherlock could recognize as Jake Venucci. The photograph was very grainy.

"They were rather intimate back then, Sherlock."

"That could be anyone," Sherlock said, indicating the blonde.

"Oh, she does turn around, let me assure you. Would you care to see the next photograph?"

Sherlock walked away from the table towards the kitchen.

"What's the point of this, Mycroft. I know Violet had previous boyfriends. Why show me pictures of her having sex with them?"

"The point is, my dear brother, that Violet Hunter was Venucci's mistress for just over a year. She then came back to live in London, during which time Venucci paid for a lovely flat for her to live in for a few months. He sold that when she moved in with a ... "

Mycroft consulted the file.

"...Nicholas McIntyre. We have no real information on McIntyre just yet. They lived together for six months after which she returned to Manchester for a couple of months, living in a flat leased by none other than Jacob Venucci."

Sherlock shrugged again.

"And now she's back in London, Sherlock. Upon moving in to Baker Street, Venucci transferred a small amount of money into Ms Hunter's personal savings account."

Sherlock just wasn't following.

"Let me enlighten you further. We were going to employ you, dear brother, to try to make these connections between Jacob Venucci, and these spate of crimes which have rocked Manchester in the last few months. And we suspect there are bigger plans afoot - something in London, something in Glasgow. We were going to come to you for help, Sherlock. You and your unique talents. We think Venucci got wind of our plans, probably from someone on the inside. Dont worry, we're dealing with that minor security breach. We suspect Venucci paid Ms Hunter to live here in Baker Street, to share in your cases with you Sherlock... And your bed."

Sherlock's demeanor actually faltered for a second, before he composed himself.

"That's ... that's a lie," he said softly. "It's absurd."

Mycroft exploded. "Oh my God! Are you really so gullible!"

Sherlock was confused. "She... I..." he stammered, not making eye contact with Mycroft.

"Oh grow up, Sherlock! Do you think she could possibly be interested in _you_!"

The words struck Sherlock like a knife. The sudden silence only served to further punctuate Mycroft's last statement. Sherlock's head started to buzz. His eyes stung. He blinked back the tears angrily, turning his back on Mycroft. He was annoyed at the sudden physiological reaction his body had made in that instant.

Mycroft looked at his younger brother. His voice softening, he said, "I did try to warn you, Sherlock."

Mycroft paused. Comforting his brother was just not in his DNA. The only act of kindness Mycroft could do now would be to leave.

"Try to be on that flight for Warsaw tomorrow morning can you? A couple of weeks hiking in Lesko will give you time to ... think about things."

Mycroft left.

As the front door downstairs slammed shut Sherlock breathed out. He took in several gulps of air, his heart racing. He lifted one hand, the back of one trembling hand, to his mouth. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. This couldn't be happening, he thought, turning around.

The world - the world is all different. He could always trust his senses, his instincts, his own view of the world. Now it had all gone awry.

Something was churning up inside him.  
The ache.  
The ache he sometimes felt for Violet, was growing inside him, turning into revulsion and anger. Anger at himself. How could he be so stupid? Anger at ... Violet.

_Violet_.

Sherlock leant onto the kitchen table for support. He should scarcely breathe.

Everything she said.  
The words she said.  
The looks she gave.

All lies?

_Stupid stupid stupid._

Sweet Violet.  
Violet laughing, hugging him, stroking his face until he fell asleep.  
Violet crying, sobbing into him when she was broken, and he just had to fix and soothe her.  
Violet asking about the cases. _Tell me all about your cases so I can fall asleep._ Getting inside his head. Wanting to know what he thought.

Making love to Violet in front of the fire in the cottage.

Violet fucking him.

Violet fucking Jake Venucci.

_Has she fucked her ex-boyfriend yet._

The voices, the words, all tumbled inside his head...

Do you think she could possibly be interested in _you_!

Violet hasn't declared her love for me.

_Has she fucked her ex-boyfriend yet?_

Are you really so gullible?

I used to always be in control.

Venucci paid Ms Hunter ... to share your bed.

Jake's the man!

_Has she fucked him yet?_

You won't fool me twice.

Are you really so gullible?

_Has she fucked her ex-boyfriend yet?_

"NOOO!"

With hatred and fury Sherlock lashed out and swept the kitchen table of its vials and beakers - the microscope and dishes flew, ricocheting off the kitchen cupboards and smashing to the ground.

Sherlock crumpled, one of his hands bleeding, and sank down on the floor against the kitchen bench.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Violet was late. She had to have another costume fitting. Couldn't they get it right? They had taken her measurements at the start of rehearsals. She had sent a text to Sherlock, saying she should be home by six. It was now a quarter past seven. She wanted to put Sherlock in a good mood, so he wouldn't be so sour about going to John and Mary's for dinner tomorrow night.

"Why does everybody have to place such importance on a single meal? The next thing you know they'll have us playing charades or -_pictionary_-..." he had complained.

Violet checked her phone again. No reply from Sherlock. Well never mind. She was home now.

As Violet unlocked the front door, she could hear a low bass sound as if there was loud music playing from inside. Upon opening the door, she found she was right. A full orchestral piece was being blasted out from upstairs.

_There is no way Mrs Hudson would be home and tolerating that. But why would Sherlock have that on?_

She'd heard him playing the violin a few times when he had no cases, but never classical music played on a stereo. At that volume. Something was definitely strange at 221B today.

Violet climbed the stairs, the music almost deafening her from the stairwell. She shuddered to think what eardrum rupturing levels she'd encounter inside the flat. She got to the top of the stairs and tried Sherlock's front door. Uncharacteristically, it was locked. Violet banged on the door.

"Sherlock!"

He'll never hear me.

Violet tried the kitchen door. It was also locked. Fortunately, Sherlock had given her a set of rarely used keys, which were on the set with the downstairs door key. She unlocked the door and entered the kitchen.

Something crunched under her feet. She looked down, turning the kitchen light on at the same time. Violet stared in shock at the scene which met her. The remains of glass beakers, vials, the microscope and assorted kitchen crockery, which usually fought for space on the kitchen table were strewn mostly over the far kitchen bench and floor. A few ricochets had made it to the side of the kitchen she was standing on.

_Oh my God_, thought Violet. _An experiment gone wrong? But that doesn't explain the music, or the locked doors. And where was Sherlock? _She was starting to panic. _This is the time_, she thought, _when you have to decide to stop now and call the police, or keep going, retrieving a very large kitchen knife as your traveling companion._

She did neither. She just kept walking through the kitchen.

"Sherlock?"

It did seem pointless calling out. Her voice could not be heard above that din.

Violet reached the living room. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the form of Sherlock (?), sitting on the couch, in his usual attire of button up shirt and trousers, no jacket, holding his head in his hands - but secured between his long, slender index and middle fingers was a lit cigarette. On the coffee table in front of him sat half (or less) a bottle of scotch whiskey. A tumbler sat more or less empty beside it.

_What? Why?_

_That fuckin' music._

Violet strode over to the shelves in the far corner of the living room, to the left of the couch. She had just stretched out her arm to switch off the stereo, when Sherlock yelled, "LEAVE IT!"

It was the intensity of the command, rather than the suddenness of it which startled Violet the most. Sherlock hadn't even looked up when he said it.

Violet looked down at him. This was a very familiar sight for her. But not with Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't get to play this role. This is Nick. Nick would sit there in an evening, already drunk, waiting for her to get home so he could accuse her of fucking her co-stars.

This is not Sherlock.

This is not her Sherlock.

Stay or go.

That was the choice she often had to make with Nick. Stay, and hope her kind words, and soothing hands could just make him break down and cry - that stupid, drunken, mess of a man; or stay and get abused. Or just go. And get abused later.

These were verbal abuses. Nick never laid a hand on her. On the wall beside her head, maybe.

But this was Sherlock.

Violet made her way over to the other side of the couch, and slowly sat down beside him. He didn't respond. Taking a deep breath in, she put her head close to his, and lightly touched his arm.

"Sherlock," she said in a loud whisper.

Sherlock put his arm down. The other, still holding the cigarette, stayed where it was, supporting his head. He turned his head slightly towards Violet though.

"What!"

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Violet took his hand in hers. Sherlock lifted his head, turning to fully look at her now.

"Violet?"

His eyes were all bloodshot. Violet couldn't tell if it was the excessive drinking, or if he'd been crying.

"Violet?" his voice sounded hoarse. "My Violet?" he whispered.

He closed his hand around hers, then pressed his forehead to hers, bringing his other hand up to cradle her face. Violet cringed from the cigarette, and quickly grabbed it out of Sherlock's hand, and dropped it into the empty glass. In his drunken haze, Sherlock seemed to not register any of that.

"Sherlock," Violet whispered, stroking his face.

She kissed him, and he seemed to respond to this.

The music was putting her on edge though. It was so dramatic, punctuated by loud brass instruments.

_Cigarette smoke and whiskey_, thought Violet, while kissing Sherlock.

They kept kissing - Violet feeling like she was kissing someone underwater, Sherlock being slow to react. She wanted to know what had upset him so intensely, but she wanted to concentrate on putting him in a better place first.

Sherlock started pulling Violet down onto the couch. He lay down, and pushed her onto his chest, tangling his fingers into her hair, and caressing it. He put his lips to the top of her head, and kissed her there.

They lay like that for a while. Violet could hear Sherlock's heart beating very fast. _Processing all that alcohol_, she thought.

But the music!

Then Sherlock tried sitting up. Violet sat up first, so she could assist Sherlock to. He had his arm around her and he whispered in her ear, "Fuck me Violet. Just one last time."

He started kissing her neck, and let his other hand find its way under her dress,

Violet was alarmed and horrified. And just a little bit sickened.

_And what did he mean, one last time?_

"Sherlock," she said, trying to pull away, and stop the wandering hand.

Sherlock pushed his forehead onto Violet's again, grasped her behind her neck, and whispered in a desperate voice, "Please, just for me...just for me."

Violet face fell. _He's so upset. Does he think I'm going to leave him?_

Sherlock lay back down, and started unzipping his trousers.

"No, Sherlock, don't."

Violet put her hand over his to stop him.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and breathed out deeply. Violet regarded him for a moment. She then got up from the couch and rearranged him so that he lay more comfortably.

_He's passed out, thank God._

Then Violet walked over to the shelf and turned _that fuckin' music off._

Sherlock didn't stir.

Violet half sat, half collapsed onto the floor next to him. She put her forehead onto his arm and wept. It didn't matter how many times she had a drunken or coked up lover say shit to her, she always took everything they said to heart. Every word, every vile spittle of hatred, declarations of love or fear.

But this.

This all from a man who was always in control - who had every logical step mapped out: thoughts in order, words carefully chosen.

Just then she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Sherlock!" came John's voice. John didn't even try the living room door, but came in straight through the open kitchen door. Violet heard him exclaim, "Jesus!" as he would've taken in the carnage in the kitchen.

John and, who Violet assumed to be, Mary entered the living room.

"Jesus Christ, what's happened here?"

Violet stood up, and wiped away her tears.

"He's drunk. He's passed out drunk. Drunken himself into a stupor."

"Why?" asked John, swiftly coming over to check Sherlock for a pulse.

Violet's face fell, and she dissolved into tears, "I don't know!"

Mary moved over to comfort Violet at this point, and John turned to look at them and then introduced them somewhat unnecessarily, "Violet, Mary, Mary... Violet."

John looked down at his unconscious friend. _Too late, Mycroft, too bloody late._

John was referring to a somewhat urgent phonecall he had received from Mycroft two hours ago. Not that you'd think it was urgent in the calm manner in which Mycroft usually speaks. It was the fact that Mycroft was ringing John at all which gave the matter its priority.

Mycroft had said to John, "John, I would like you to watch over Sherlock tonight."

"Why?" John replied, "Is tonight one of his danger nights? He hasn't had one of those in ages."

"Nevertheless, I'd like you to stay with him tonight."

"But I've got plans - we're going to dinner."

"No, John." Mycroft's voice was soft yet firm.

"What about Violet? Ring her, she..."

"No John. And furthermore, I'd like you to keep Ms. Hunter away from Sherlock for tonight. And tomorrow see to it that he's at Heathrow by 9am to catch a flight to Warsaw."

"What?!"

"That's all John. Keep Ms. Hunter away from Baker Street and ensure that Sherlock makes his flight. Are we clear?"

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

At which point Mycroft had hung up.

_So, Sherlock got smashed, and Violet was a witness to it. So far, evening a success_, John thought.

"So, Mary, Violet. I think it might be a good idea if Mary took you back to our place tonight Violet. I'll stay here with..."

"No! I'm staying! How ridiculous!"

"I'm just thinking he's probably not going to be in a good enough condition to see anybody... or have anybody see him; he might, you know, vomit or something. I'll get him cleaned up and sobered up. Sleep will be his best bet. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

John walked over and touched Violet lightly on her arm. But Violet was having none of it.

"This is bullshit. This fuckin' crap! All of it! Do you know why he did this? Has he done this before?"

"No, Violet. It's just that Mycroft..."

John didn't know how to finish. _Mycroft said keep Violet away? For who's sake: Violet's or Sherlock's?_

"Mycroft! His brother?"

"...said something about a case."

"A case? Since when does a case do this to him?"

"Well there was that time he got drunk after he thought he saw a gigantic h-hound." John thought it sounded ridiculous the moment he started saying it.

Mary interrupted at this point, saving John from digging himself in deeper.

"Violet, why don't we go down to Mrs Hudson's kitchen for a cuppa and let John clear up this mess?"

Calm words of wisdom, John thought. Violet seemed to appreciate it anyway.

"I just want to..."

Violet started walking back towards Sherlock's lifeless figure on the couch. John realized Violet may need a moment, so he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, I'll just get a broom. Mary?"

John and Mary moved into the kitchen to commence the clean up.

Violet perched on the edge of the couch, near Sherlock's waist. She bent over him, and smoothed his curls away from his forehead, then she put her lips there and kissed him. He frowned and moved his head slightly.

"What's wrong, Sherlock? Please tell me what's wrong," she whispered.

She started crying again, and stroked the side of his face. She gently pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "It will all be okay, I'm here for you."

She sniffed, and a fresh stream of tears fell down her face and onto Sherlock's.

She kissed his cheek, and then his lips, then gently stroked his face again, removing her tears.

"I love you," she said, crying, and cradling his face to hers. _There, I've said it, and he's not even awake to hear me. No guts, Violet._

She buried her face into his neck, and clutched at his chest.

_Maybe I'll just stay here. John can move him to his bed and I'll lie next to him all night._

Violet lay there for a while, closing her eyes and pretending they were in a little cottage in Tavistock, lying in front of the fire. Sherlock had fallen asleep - his mind quelled for a time since Violet had soothed him by gently tracing paths around his face with her fingertips.

Violet gave Sherlock another kiss, this time on is neck, and then sat up.

_But he'll probably wake in the night and be all horrid and puke or something. He won't want me to see him like this._

She kissed his forehead again.

"Good night, Sherlock. I'll see you in the morning," she whispered reluctantly.

Violet rose and walked around to the kitchen, wiping away her tears as she went.

"I'll just get some things from upstairs, and then I'll come home with you, if that's still okay, Mary."

Mary looked up at Violet from her position on the floor, picking up broken shards of chemistry equipment. "That's fine, Violet" she said kindly, and gave Violet a smile.

An hour or so after the girls had left, John surveyed the kitchen.

_That's good_, he thought, _you'd never know what happened here, except that you can now see the top of the kitchen table. Right, well_. He rubbed his hands together. _Time for a cuppa. Just hope Sherlock doesn't..._

WHUMP!

_...fall off the couch._

Luckily John had moved the coffee table away slightly earlier.

"Ow."

John walked around to the living room. Sherlock was lying motionless, crumpled on the floor. John sighed as he walked over to him.

"Come on," John puffed, trying to haul Sherlock's dead weight up off the floor.

Sherlock came to, and slowly sat up, leaning against the couch.

"John... your shout."

"No, no, nooo. We'll have no more of that."

John grabbed the bottle and glass and took them both over to the kitchen.

_Bloody hell, that was the $75,000 1926 Macallan Scotch Whiskey given to Sherlock by a South Korean businessman. Hope it was worth it._

Sherlock inelegantly reached over to the coffee table and grabbed at a packet of cigarettes and lighter.  
John was in two minds about confiscating them from Sherlock. He thought better of it. _Poor bastard needs a vice tonight. What the hell happened here?_

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked hoarsely after he had taken a long drag on the cigarette.

"What? Who? Violet?"

"Violet." Sherlock brought his knees up, so he could rest his arms on them, and intermittently, his head.

"Erm, at my place. With Mary. Do you want me to call her?"

"Poison, John," Sherlock said, taking another drag.

"What?"

John grabbed a chair from the living room table, and turned it around to face Sherlock. This might be a very long, and cryptic, conversation. He sat down, leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees.

"What are you talking about Sherlock. Poison? Violet?"

"File."

Sherlock waved a limp hand at the table behind John. John turned around and reached back to the table and grabbed at the manilla file Mycroft had placed there earlier that afternoon. He opened it.

"Property of the Muzeum Narodowe, Warsaw."

"No, the other one. The -_box_-."

John reached back again and replaced the manilla folder, then grabbed at the small archive box, fastened with string looped between two plastic discs. He slowly unwound the string, looking over at Sherlock who was resting his head on his arms and looking down.

John opened the lid of the box, then swiftly shut it again.

"Oh God."

The image was burnt in his mind however. He couldn't erase it now.

He cleared his throat. "Well her hair was much longer then. It can't be a recent photo."

Sherlock slowly lifted his head.

"It's not about the _sex_, John," he began, viciously. "She's a _spy_!" Sherlock spat the word out.

John thought he'd gone mad.

"Violet? A spy? For who? The CIA? The KGB?" He shook his head and laughed. "Come on, Sherlock! Violet?"

John stood up and dumped the box file back onto the table.

"Okay, let's get you off to bed. You need to sleep this off. We can talk about _The Spy Who Loved You _in the morning."

John plucked the cigarette out of Sherlock's hand, then strode over to the fireplace and threw it in. He then came back and hauled Sherlock to his feet. Sherlock swayed a little then grasped John around the shoulders. He stared intently with his glassy eyes at John, and said, "She's fucked us all, John! She's fucked us all! You ... me ... Mrs Hudson ... JOHN!"

Sherlock had a slight, if not still drunken, look of alarm in his eyes. "John! I think I ... loved her, John!"

"Yes, okay, well come on then... Romeo. You can tell her that in the morning."

John half supported, half dragged Sherlock to his bedroom, and unceremoniously dumped him onto the bed. He removed Sherlock's shoes, then swung his legs up onto the mattress.

"That's all. I'm not undressing you any further. Good night."

John switched off the light, and shut Sherlock's bedroom door.

"... loved her, John," Sherlock murmured in the dark.

* * *

"And just don't... talk... to anybody. Okay, look up."

John tilted Sherlock's head back and administered two drops into each eye.

"Now, what do you have to remember?"

"Get on the plane, don't have any alcohol, water only, sleep as much as I can, and don't talk to anybody."

"Good. Now let me see you walk."

Sherlock sighed and rose from the kitchen chair. He strode into the living room down to the coffee table and back again.

"I'm perfectly fine, John."

"Well that will have to do. Mycroft will be pissed off if you get thrown off the plane for being inebriated."

"I've never been better," Sherlock stated, grabbing his coat from the back of the living room door.

"Er... Sherlock," John began, not really knowing how he should approach the subject, "Ah, about last night..."

"Oh," Sherlock replied dismissively, while wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Feelings, John. Emotions. The grit on the lens. The fly in the ointment."

"The half a bottle of scotch."

"Don't worry about it, John. More pressing matters. In fact, we should leave now, because you've grossly under-estimated the time it takes to get a taxi from here to the airport during peak hour."

"Oh, have I?" asked John, hurriedly grabbing his own jacket from the back of his old armchair and checking his watch.

"Actually, why do you need to come at all? I'm perfectly capable of catching a flight to Warsaw myself."

"Er, because Mycroft asked me to ensure you got on that flight this morning."

"And here you are," Sherlock commented, smiling at John. "Thank you, John! See you in a couple of weeks!"

Sherlock picked up his suitcase, and dashed downstairs.

Wearily John slumped into his old armchair. He propped up his head with one hand.

"Never get a straight answer out of the man."

John yawned. He had been up all night. He had woken Sherlock every couple of hours to hydrate him, and walk him to the bathroom. At one stage he even gave him a vitamin B injection.

"Mission accomplished. And now to sleep."

* * *

Sherlock had to get out of the flat and away from John as quickly as he could. Ever since waking, he had felt the enormous ache returning. The one he had blotted out through successive gulps of the finest whiskey he had ever tasted. And drowned his thoughts and those incessant voices with classical music at full volume.

He sat in the back of the taxi as the waves of anger, disgrace and self-loathing all smothered him in turn.

And the ache -

Violet.

That ache bore out all the others.

He leaned forward in his seat - his head almost touching the front passenger seat. He rested his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

And there it was - that pain that rises up from the pit of your stomach, up through your throat, skirts around your sinuses, then presses on your tear ducts.

Sherlock breathed out as the tears flowed. Again.

Then he got angry with himself. Again.

_Fuck this._

_FUCK this!_

"You all right, mate? Not gonna puke are ya?"

"Fine!"

But he wasn't fine.

He needed a couple of weeks in Poland. Or a month. Or a year. Or 10.

* * *

"Is he awake?"

John woke with a start, as Violet rushed past him, through the kitchen and into Sherlock's room.

"Where is he?" she asked, marching back through the kitchen.

John, slightly disoriented at first, staggered out of the armchair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to believe just how exhausted and sleep deprived he was. He rubbed his face with his hands.

Violet was waiting for an answer. He looked at her. Her eyes were slightly puffy. The eyes of someone who had spent most of the night crying and not sleeping either.

"He's gone, Violet."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"-Poland."

* * *

.

_Thoughts?_

.

Thanks for your lovely feedback so far!

Please review!

x


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

John couldn't believe he was having this conversation again.

"Well, I don't think my passport is..."

"Your passport is quite current, John," Mycroft's silky voice assured him.

John bowed his head and hung his phone hand by his side for a second before returning it to his ear.

"Look Mycroft, I can't just fly to Warsaw at a moment's notice. I have shifts..."

"All taken care of John."

"...and there's Mary to consider."

"I'm sure she will be fine with this, John."

John took a deep breath.

Mycroft continued, "John, this is Sherlock's hour of need..."

"He's been dead drunk in Poland for three days - it's hardly an 'hour'.

"I can't get through to him, John. In fact, my presence only serves to ... exacerbate things. The Polish authorities are very disappointed he hasn't made any progress on the case."

"So they know he's been passed out on his hotel couch for three days?"

"No, after his initial meeting with them, he left and wasn't contactable thereafter. I assured them this was his 'method'. That he likes to absorb all the information - meditate on it, so to speak. But I can't stay in Warsaw any longer. I have things to attend to on the home front, John. I am quite confident that you are the only one who can influence Sherlock - bring him to his senses, and bring an end to this destructive binge drinking."

John sighed.

"You know, Violet could probably..."

"No, John. I don't think Violet Hunter is the best candidate for this task."

"And why not?" John was getting sick of all this cryptic crap.

"You may have to ask Sherlock that question, John. There is a flight that leaves this evening at 11pm. I'll have a ticket waiting for you at the counter. There will be a driver waiting to take you to the hotel once you get to Chopin. Thank you, John."

He hung up.

_Bloody hell._

"Uh... Mary!"

* * *

Violet was annoyed with herself for leaving a rather lame voice message for Sherlock. She ended up texting "Call me. x" as well, since Sherlock appreciated messages short and to the point.

She wandered around as if in a daze half the time - not comprehending why Sherlock had written himself off, why he went to Poland without saying goodbye, and why he hadn't contacted her at all. And John was no help either. He had no answers, only to mumble it was something to do with Mycroft and a new case abroad.

John had finally given in to Violet's constant harassment by giving her Mycroft's number. Violet had left a nice little message for Mycroft to call her, but of course he hadn't.

In between attending rehearsals and annoying people, including Mrs Hudson, about missing Sherlock, Violet really was at her wit's end.

_I feel like getting drunk myself, _she thought.

* * *

"You're not drunk at all!" John remarked, astonished at Sherlock opening his hotel door within two knocks at 3am, fully dressed, and looking pretty sober.

"I stopped drinking the minute Mycroft left. He was annoying me."

Sherlock opened the door wider and ushered John in.

"Now what about the case? Have you started work on it?"

"Solved it, John! Within hours of getting here."

"You solved it? But Mycroft said..."

"Ah, yes, I came back to the hotel room after meeting the museum officials. I had a look around the museum that morning. I found out what I needed to. The museum staff had kindly left me a nice bottle of Luksusowa in my room, so I had a few shots...or more. The next thing I remember, Mycroft was here doing his usual thing, so I kept drinking to block him out. I just hadn't got round to telling the museum where'd they'd find their precious paintings."

"Which is where?"

"The skip bin, outside."

John sighed. "Okay well, tell them in the morning. I'm going to bed. Does this door open?"

John indicated the adjoining room door.

"Yes, I locked it to stop Mycroft from coming in. You can use it."

"Right, then, goodnight Sherlock!"

* * *

Violet sat huddled in Sherlock's armchair trying to enjoy the warmth of the fire. It was 8 o'clock in the morning and she was freezing. She couldn't sleep in these days. She was thinking she needed something to remember Sherlock by. Violet had looked around Sherlock's flat. No family photos, no photos of him shaking hands with the Prime Minister - of any country, no photos of him and John bowling or anything. She checked her phone again. The only photos she had of Sherlock were of him kneeling on the grass at Dartmoor, and in those he had his back to the camera. Well, she was trying to sneakily take his photo at the time.

Her eyes drifted to the pile of unsorted mail on the living room table._ I'm not even doing my assistant's job properly_. But surely, there'd be a nice photo of Sherlock and her enjoying each other's company if Nora has been doing her stalking properly. _I can just cut off the me/Nora part._

Violet checked through the pile. There were two envelopes from Nora. Violet grabbed them and sat back in Sherlock's chair with a pair of scissors. She tore open the first one, and threw the empty envelope onto the fire.

She sighed. It actually was a lovely photo. Sherlock and Violet/Nora were walking back from a lunch date that day. Sherlock had met Violet on a rehearsal day because he had nothing better to do. Sherlock was gazing lovingly at her. Violet took to the photo with the scissors and tossed her half into the fire.

She laid that one aside and eagerly opened the other, throwing the envelope away as she pulled the photo out. _Look at me sitting her doing this. How pathetic am I?_

_Oh!_

_My God!_

All of the blood drained from Violet's face. She felt sick.

Sherlock and Violet/Nora were sitting on the couch kissing.

Sherlock's couch.

With a bottle of scotch whiskey sitting in front of them on the coffee table.

_Fuck!_

_Oh my fuckin' God, no!_

Violet stood up and looked around the room wildly.

_She was in here. Oh fuck, she was here that night. She was here._  
_Right here._

_How?_

_Where was she standing?_

_Oh God!_

Violet moved to a position behind her armchair.

_Here!_

_How did we not notice she was there? Taking photos?_  
_We were kissing, but..._

_...the music was so loud! Enough to ruin anyone's senses. And Sherlock was, well, completely off his nut, so he wasn't going to notice anything._

_And the face -_

- no longer quite as grotesque as Nora wasn't smiling this time. She also had her head turned toward the camera so it looked like Sherlock was kissing the side of her face. Also, she was wearing glasses. Her stringy brown hair framed her face.

_Her face!_

_No wonder it looked oddly familiar._

_Oh my fuckin' God!_

_Nora_

_was the girl_

_in the basement_

_on baking day_

_handing me a fuckin' apron!_

* * *

"Or you can take this tour, John!"

Sherlock was holding out a hotel brochure of things to do and see in Warsaw.

"Sherlock!"

"It says you can combine tours A and B and make it an all day..."

"SHERLOCK! I don't want to go on a bloody tour of Warsaw! I don't want to see Chopin's birth place or the bloody Hanging Garden's of Babylon..."

"They're not..."

"What's going on!? You're freaking me out with this bloody happy tour guide crap. What happened with Violet?"

Sherlock's face fell. He walked away from John, tossing the brochure onto the coffee table. He put his hands in his pockets and started pacing the room, not knowing where to start.

John decided to prompt him.

"What was the file about, Sherlock?" he said in a much calmer voice.

"Mycroft's people put it together."

"Mycroft? What's he got against Violet?"

Sherlock stopped pacing. His eyes took on a menacing look.

"There you see, John, she's got you thinking she's the innocent party. The victim!"

"Violet? Well, Mycroft's 'people' took a photo of her having sex with an old boyfriend or something. What's that got to do with..."

"You saw that photo?" Sherlock asked suspiciously, obviously forgetting that he had guided John to the file the night before he left.

"A bit. Just briefly... very... very... briefly."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

"She's crafty John. She has you believing in the fairy tale. The little lost girl..."

"Hang on. This is Violet! Sherlock, are you listening to yourself? She's your..."

"YOU LISTEN JOHN! She's got you wrapped around her little finger. Did she cry to you John? Poor Violet? Big mean Sherlock has abandoned me? Is that what she said to you?"

John took offense at Sherlock's insinuations. He shook his head and raised his hands, palms out to Sherlock.

"I'm not buying any of this Sherlock. You just..."

"Oh!... I see what's happened here," Sherlock said in a deadly calm voice. He slowly walked towards John and looked down at him.

"Did she fuck you too, John? While Mary was at work? Did you too fuck?"

John saw red at that moment. He balled up his right hand, pulled his arm back and smashed his fist into Sherlock's face.

* * *

"Who the fuck is Nora!"

The little old biddies of Baker Street were shocked at this sudden interruption to their tea party in Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs Turner put her hand to her mouth.

"Such language!" whispered Mrs Booth.

"Violet, what's going on?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Nora! Which one of you brought Nora here on baking day?"

"We don't know any Nora, Violet. What's going on?" Mrs Hudson.

"A daughter or niece or whoever she is. The girl. The one here on baking day!"

"There was no girl here on baking day. Just us Violet."

Violet was confused.

"The apron. She brought an apron down that I'd missed. How can you not see a big fuckin' girl with glasses taking an apron from here?"

"Violet!"

Mrs Hudson walked to the kitchen door and opened it wider. She stepped out into the passageway so that Violet would take the hint and join her there.

Violet was almost beside herself.

"Mrs Hudson. Nora! She was here. She was in the basement when I took the aprons down."

Mrs Hudson shook her head. "I'm sorry love. There was no one called Nora here that day. No young girls, except yourself. Perhaps you were mistaken dear. All the stress of having Sherlock away and..."

"Not today! On baking day! Look!"

Violet pulled the photo out from her pocket and showed it to the landlady.

Mrs Hudson put one hand to her cheek and gasped, "Oh! That's not like Sherlock to be kissing young women in his..."

"He's not kissing her! He's kissing me. Look, she's photoshopped her head onto my body. She was here, Mrs Hudson. She somehow got into our flat. Not just that night, but the morning of the Bake Off too.

"Oh dear! Should I call the police? That nice detective friend of Sherlock's..."

"No!" Violet was considerably calmer now. "No, Mrs Hudson, they'll only make fun of him." She remembered John telling her how they'd taken photos and video'd Sherlock when he was in a compromising position once. This photo would only end up on the internet.

"Don't worry, I'll.. I'll ring John."

* * *

John was sitting with his head in his hands in the international terminal at Chopin airport. When his phone rang, he answered it automatically without checking the caller I.D.

"Hello?"

"John! It's Violet."

John hung his head. Violet was the last person he wanted to speak to right now. Well, second last.

"John! Can you come over? Someone's been here. In Sherlock's flat. Can you just..."

"What! Are you all right? I can't come, Violet..."

"I'm ... just..."

"I'm actually out of the country."

"What?"

"I'm in Poland but I'm catching..."

"In Poland! Is Sherlock there? Can I speak to him?"

John took a deep breath. "No, he's not, Violet. I'm at the airport waiting to catch a flight home. Sherlock is... is..."

"Where?"

"Well, we had a row. I think he's going to Lesko."

There was a slight pause from Violet's end.

"Where the fuck is Lesko?"

"I... don't know. Somewhere in Poland."

"Well, when's he coming back?"

"I don't know, Violet. Are you okay?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Look, Violet, if you're worried at all, then go stay at our place, with Mary. I'm sure she won't mind. I'll be a bit delayed. Heathrow's fogged in so I probably won't get in til tomorrow."

"I'm fine, John."

Violet's voice sounded small. She hung up.

* * *

Violet couldn't concentrate at her rehearsals that day. She was slow to respond - didn't cry on cue, if at all.

_She has to be stopped. I have to stop her. I have to talk to her. This isn't normal._

Violet called the only other person she could think of who could help her.

She took out her phone and dialled his number.

"Hello, Jake?"

"Violet."

"Jake, can you..." Violet started crying.

"Yes, Violet. Tomorrow."

He hung up on her.

* * *

During Thursday's rehearsal break a man approached Violet as she was refilling her drink bottle in the corridor outside the rehearsal room.

"Violet Hunter?" he asked.

"Yes?" Violet didn't know him, but she immediately knew what he wanted. They talked for a while and she gave him a photo.

And later that night, Violet and this man, plus one other, quietly visited a residence in Pemberton's End. And what transpired that night left Violet numb for days to come.

"I have to tell Sherlock, but he'll be so angry with me..."

* * *

"Mary, I was trying to contact John. He hasn't returned any of my calls. Is he okay? Did he get back from Poland?"

"Yes, he's back, Violet. Sorry, he's had a lot on his mind. He and Sherlock had a bit of a ... fight. I'll let him know you called."

John watched Mary as she hung up his phone.

"You know you're going to have to talk to one or the other of them sooner or later. Now put that damn file away."

Mary stalked off to the kitchen. John closed the lid on the archive file he had taken from Sherlock's flat the day Sherlock flew out to Poland. He thought it wouldn't be smart to leave it lying around there. He couldn't figure it out though. Not the photos - he had buried them right at the bottom of the box. And he had shown them to Mary, and explained his strange conversations with Sherlock to her. Whatever conclusions Sherlock had come to that Violet was a 'spy' from the evidence in the box, John was just not getting.

But he was conflicted. He had every faith that Sherlock was always right. Sherlock would know what he was talking about. But John's instincts told him that Violet was just a young woman - a struggling actor, very pleasant to talk to, sensitive, bright...interesting sex life...

But if Sherlock was right, then he, John, was a fucking gullible idiot. And if Sherlock was right, John wanted to avoid Violet for now. Violet and her dramas - her possible made-up melodramas.

And then there was also that punch. Sherlock was way out of line. He deserved it, of course he did. Didn't he?

* * *

Then suddenly he was back. Away for just over two weeks and there he was standing in his kitchen with his back to her, waiting for the kettle to boil. He turned around when he heard her gasp.

Violet ran to him, unable to say anything, and grabbed him in a hug just as his phone rang. Sherlock automatically put his arms around Violet, then patted her back, saying, "I have to get that."

Violet let him go and straightened up, slightly bewildered. Sherlock moved away from her and walked slowly over to the living room as he spoke on his phone.

"Ah, Lestrade! ... No, just got back in an hour ago..."

_An hour ago!? He's been here for an hour and he didn't come up and surprise me in the shower or anything?_

Violet watched him, feeling numb. He looked very happy, talking animatedly with Lestrade. He ended the call and turned to Violet saying "Yes!" so suddenly he startled her. He strolled over to her and put his hands on either side of her.

"A murder-suicide! In Brixton!"

He kissed her on the cheek.

"Love those!"

Sherlock strode over to the living room and grabbed his coat from the back of the door. Putting it on, but not looking at Violet, he remarked, "Always something to look forward to!"

He grabbed his scarf and yelled, "Don't wait up!" as he ran down the stairs.

Violet was stunned.

She went to her rehearsal that day. Again, going through the motions - on auto-pilot. Two weeks of rehearsals to go, then two weeks of performances. She didn't know if she was going to get through it all in this state.

_Sherlock was back!_ She thought about ringing him, but he was on a case, and she didn't know what was going on with him. And when she got home, she was on auto-pilot again. Making salad, sorting the mail, checking emails.

Violet had just finished eating and was slowly washing her bowl when she heard Sherlock coming up the stairs.

_Please be normal, Sherlock._

He came in and took of his gloves, putting them on the living room table. He looked over at her. His face had no expression on it. Violet looked back at him, and she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Sherlock!" she said, dissolving into tears.

She moved slowly toward him into the living room. His face remained impassive. Violet stopped where she was, seeing no reaction from him at all.

"Sherlock, something happened when you were away."

Sherlock slowly took his scarf off and put it on a chair, still looking at Violet in that non-responsive way.

"Nora..." Violet wiped her tears away.

"Nora?" Sherlock shrugged, then took his coat off, and went over to hang it on the living room door.

"The fan."

"Oh," Sherlock replied, walking past Violet and over to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock kept filling the kettle.

"Sherlock! ... She's ... dead."

He put the kettle on its stand and flicked the switch down, then slowly turned around.

"People die all the time," he said matter-of-factly, leaning against the kitchen bench, and putting his hands in his pockets.

_What is going on with him?_

"She killed herself."

No reaction.

"I was there."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and straightened up.

"What do you mean, you were there?"

"I... we..."

Tears streamed down Violet's face. Sherlock looked slightly annoyed at this. Violet wiped them away again and took a deep breath in.

"She sent another photo the other day."

"Which you opened."

"It was a photo of you and I on the couch."

No response.

"Kissing."

Nothing.

"The night before you left for Poland."

Sherlock looked at her suspiciously. "So are you telling me that this fan, Nora, came into my living room, snapped a picture of you and I and left without either of us noticing?"

"Yes."

Sherlock strolled over to Violet, hands still in his pockets. "And moving right along to the night she killed herself."

"I ... wanted to find out where she lived. So I could ... talk to her."

Sherlock sighed and started walking in a slow circle around Violet.

"And you talked her into killing herself."

"No! It wasn't like that!"

"And how did you find out where she lived? There was no return address on the envelopes," he said, still pacing.

"I had someone else find her."

"Which was?" _If it wasn't me, then who else could possibly have the skills to do this?_ he thought.

"A friend."

_Again with the friend!_ thought Sherlock.

"And the friend is..." he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Jake."

And there it was.

"Jacob Venucci," finished Sherlock, still circling Violet.

"H-how do you know?" Violet asked.

"Doesn't matter. Keep going. Venucci found her did he?"

"No, he had someone find her. And they... we... went to her flat and ... she wasn't home at first."

Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock. You should've seen her flat! It was ... so disturbing. She had pictures all over her walls of you! All around her bed. With messages and love hearts and candles..."

Sherlock stopped pacing.

"So a young woman committed suicide, and there is a shrine to me in her flat?"

Violet looked at him for a moment. _Now he's interested._

"Don't worry, it's all gone."

"Gone?" he asked incredulously.

"They cleaned it up."

"Who?"

"Cleaners."

"The cleaners?"

"No. Crime scene cleaners. Ones who work for ... Jake."

Sherlock started a slow circuit around Violet again, in the other direction. Thinking. And then he got it. A woman committed suicide, a shrine to Sherlock was cleaned up. And now he, Sherlock, is indebted to Venucci for removing any connection between Sherlock and the woman. The net was getting tighter.

"Well, thank Venucci for me. But give him this message also," Sherlock stopped pacing and stepped closer to Violet. He whispered menacingly, "This is a game I am not willing to play!"

"What?"

Sherlock continued his circling again.

"You can stop this now, you know," he said calmly.

"Stop what?" Violet was confused.

"This..." he waved his hand at her. "This poor, innocent child slash sex kitten in the bedroom thing."

Violet took a deep breath in.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked quite threatening, when he said to Violet in a low voice, "You don't get to say my name like that again."

Violet was completely bewildered now.

"Sherlock..."

"Stop it! Just ... go." He waved his hand at her dismissively. "Go back to your real life."

"Sherlock, why are you saying this? What's happened to you?"

"To _me_? I'm still me! You're the one who's_ false_! Look at you with your dyed hair and your job as the professional pretender! Is your real life so lack-lustre that you have to make up some other life to live?"

"I..."

But Sherlock kept on.

"You once asked me to not figure you out. Not notice things about you. Do you want to know what I noticed? My first impressions were of this lost girl, abandoned by her mother in death, shunned by her father in life. A girl who is so desperate for a father figure that she gives herself up to any man who rescues her from her own dull existence."

Violet didn't know what was going on with Sherlock. But he had so eloquently stated what Nick in his paranoia had always said to her: _I don't trust you. You're a slut._

Without saying anything back to Sherlock, she turned and walked out of the room.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Violet dreamt she was back near that overpass. Nora had stepped up to the railings, and looked back at her and smiled her grotesque smile. Violet went to yell out "No!" as Nora spread out her arms and fell. Rough hands stifled Violet's yell as she was hastily bundled into a car and driven away.

Violet woke with a start. Tears began trickling down her face.

She had woken several times during the night in much the same way. It all felt surreal to her: Nora's death; and Sherlock's rejection of her in a very bizarre way.

He had said some very hurtful things. She didn't understand why he was lashing out at her like that. Violet just wanted him back. She had to talk to him. She had to see him. She wanted to hold him...

Tired and sleep deprived, Violet crept downstairs. She walked barefooted to Sherlock's room, and gently opened the door. The light from the window outlined his sleeping form. He was lying on his side, with his back to her.

At least he's asleep, she thought. No random, worrying thoughts keeping him awake.

She moved toward the bed.

"Sherlock?"

She sat on the bed, and leaned over, placing a gentle arm on his side.

"Sherlock?"

He rolled onto his back and she could see he had opened his eyes.

Violet slid over closer to his side. She leant over him as Sherlock brought his hands up to cradle Violet's face. He pulled her into a kiss. They kissed longingly, then urgently. Sherlock pushed Violet onto her back. Frantically they tore at each other's clothes - pyjamas and limbs tangling and entwining. Sherlock made love to Violet with a passionate fervor that left them both breathless and panting in the aftermath.

Tenderly, Violet turned to Sherlock and whispered, "I love you."

Sherlock froze, staring into the darkness.

"Get out," he said, hoarsely.

"Sherlock," Violet began.

"I said get out!" Sherlock sat up and turned to her.

As Violet slowly rose from the bed, gathering up her things in shock, Sherlock spat, "Don't ever mistake me fucking you for me loving you!"

Violet fled.

* * *

That was it. It was over.

Violet was lucky it was the weekend. She couldn't get out of bed, except to go to the bathroom. Humiliated and rejected.

_I don't know what I've done wrong.  
I don't know why he hates me so much.  
Please Sherlock, tell me what I've done wrong.  
Whatever it is, I'm sorry for it.  
I love you.  
I love you so much._

She wanted to die.  
She didn't want to see anyone or talk to anybody.

Her phone kept buzzing with messages from friends, co-stars. its the weekend! what are we doing? where are we going? who's in?

She ignored the phone until it completed its ailing charge me charge me alarm, then died also.

In the back of her mind she remembered there was one thing she had to do that afternoon. And she dreaded that. But she'd made a promise to herself. And to Nora.

When the time came round, she showered, dressed, but wore no makeup, and just tied her hair back into a pony tail. She hid her puffy eyes behind dark sunnies.

With trepidation she went downstairs, hoping to bump into nobody. She was lucky. She escaped into the grey, cold, dreary day and hailed a cab. The perfect day for a funeral.

She sat in the church in thoughtful silence. Nora's casket was, understandably, closed. There was nobody else in the church. There was no service.

After 15 minutes or so, Violet was just thinking about leaving when a voice spoke behind her.

"'ow do you know 'er?"

Violet turned around. A young woman had taken the pew behind her. She looked a little bit like Nora, only slimmer, and her hair was tidier.

"I only met her once," Violet replied, praying the woman wouldn't probe further. "Are you Nora's...um.."

"Big sister. Yer, that's me. She was a nutter."

"Excuse me?" Violet thought she'd mis-heard.

"A nutter! Loopy, you know..." The woman circled her finger around the side of her head.

"Oh." Violet didn't know how to respond to that.

"Killed 'erself. Didja 'ear?"

"Ah, yes. Very sad," commented Violet.

"Third time lucky, eh?"

"Pardon?"

"This was 'er third time she tried. Idjit."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that."

Violet was intrigued.

"Yep. First time when she were 15. Goo-goo-eyed over this boy at school. Stupid bloke. Didn't even know she existed. 'e got 'imself a girlfriend so Nora tried to top 'erself. Slashed 'er wrists she did. Idjit did it sideways, 'stead of long ways, you know?"

"Oh."

"Yeh, me mum and dad just ignored it all. Shoulda put 'er in the looney bin after that!"

"Well, there's all kinds of counselling isn't there?" Violet offered, lamely.

"Second time was over a movie star. She sent 'im love letters and 'e went an' got married! She took too many 'eadache pills. Idjit. Got really sick then, but didn't die."

"I'm sorry. Nora must have been really troubled."

"Nah, just looney."

There was silence for a moment. Violet stood up and said, "Well, I'm really sorry for your loss. I'll leave you to ..er"

"She didn't 'ave a bloke this time," Nora's sister continued, standing up when Violet did.

"Oh."

Violet was a bit worried.

"Yer, there were no pitchers in 'er flat this time. Colin 'ere," she indicated a guy sitting at the back of the church, "reckons she was mad for some poor sap on the other end of the phone. Call centre."

"Oh."

"She worked from 'ome. With one of those call centres. I guess yer knew that?"

"Um, yes."

"Prolly loved 'is voice."

"Perhaps."

"Well, see yer later. Colin and me's off to a sale at Andy's. 30% off!"

Violet watched them go and sighed deeply.

When she arrived back at Baker Street, she didn't immediately enter. She stood outside on the pavement, thinking.

_I don't want to see him. I couldn't bare to see him. I should probably move out._

As she stood there sighing, a taxi squealed to a halt in the street behind her.

"Thank you, cabbie," said a familiar voice.

Violet's heart lurched.

Sherlock brushed past her, and unlocked the front door. He opened it, went inside, but held the door open, looking back at Violet, expectantly.

_He's still being a gentleman, yet he's a prick? How does that work._

Violet approached the door, and as soon as she put her hand out to also stop the door swinging back, Sherlock let go, and hurried off inside. Violet remained in the entrance just after she closed the door. She didn't want to be on the staircase with him.

She had that stomach churning sickly feeling inside. She felt ill, remembering last night and what a humiliating experience that was. She was such an idiot going down to his room like that. What was she thinking?

She slowly ascended the stairs once she'd heard Sherlock's footsteps die away.

* * *

_What the fuck is she still hanging around here for? _Sherlock thought as he closed his door and hung his coat and scarf on the back of it.

Now he was at a loose end, having just solved a case. He found his thoughts returning to those matters he had shut out.

John.

His best friend had punched him in anger.

How did John not see what he could see? Of course he didn't really think John would've slept with Violet. That accusation, Sherlock did admit to himself, was maybe, a little bit, out of line. But he wouldn't put anything past _her_.

* * *

Violet busied herself packing up the things she needed to get through the next couple of weeks. She had phoned Mandi, told her all about what had happened (well, as far as she could interpret) and had a good cry about it. Mandi of course said Violet could stay with her until she got that asshole out of her system.

Violet then crept downstairs to talk to Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson was of course appalled that Sherlock had broken up with Violet. Violet had another good cry in Mrs Hudson's kitchen. Mrs Hudson understood that Violet needed to have some time away from Baker Street. Violet wasn't sure if she would return, but she would pay the next month's rent in advance for the time being.

For the next week of rehearsals, their second last, Violet kept up a steady routine of wake-up early, put tea bags on eyes to eliminate puffiness, get ready for the day, taxi to the theatre, pretend to be a wonderfully focussed actor, kiss co-stars goodbye (sometimes have a coffee, practise fake-laughing at their jokes), go home, get lectured by Mandi, have dinner, cry self to sleep, start over.

The only highlight of the week, if there was such a thing, was that Violet had been tentatively accepted by The Romany Silver Talent Agency, pending her performance in the upcoming production.

Mandi and Violet had a mini celebration on Friday night, resulting in Violet getting drunk, crying some more, and passing out on Mandi's couch. Luckily Mandi had confiscated her phone to stop Violet from ringing Sherlock earlier in the evening.

Sherlock's week was just as mundane. He lay on the couch in his grey pyjamas and best dressing gown, tossing the tennis ball he had found under the sink next to the cleaning products up onto the ceiling. He broke up his week by going to the lab on Wednesday, the morgue on Thursday night, then back to the lab on Friday.

* * *

"Right. I'm going to return this," John said to Mary, tucking the archive file box under his arm. "And it's time for an apology."

He had sent a text to Sherlock, asking him if he was home. He wasn't. He was at St. Bart's, so that's where John was headed.

John had to check several laboratories before he eventually found Sherlock. He was again in the smaller one - the one he had used to take his and Violet's blood samples that lovely Sunday afternoon.

"John," Sherlock said, not looking up from the microscope as John entered the lab.

"I'm returning this," John responded, not really impressed with the greeting so far.

Sherlock looked up and glanced at what John was holding.

"Oh."

"You didn't miss it then."

"Er.. no. I thought Mycroft took it back."

Sherlock returned to looking through the microscope. John put the file onto the bench next to Sherlock.

"I'm waiting for an apology," John stated.

Sherlock looked up again, and swivelled the lab stool slightly in John's direction. He narrowed his eyes, then suddenly realized what John was talking about.

"Sorry?" he said, tentatively.

John waited a bit. "Is that it?" he replied, incredulously.

"Should there be more?" Sherlock tilted his head slightly.

John set his jaw firmly.

"You accused me of sleeping with your girlfriend," he said.

"Well, technically she wasn't really my girlfriend."

John took a deep breath, thinking to himself, _try not to throttle him_.

"Well, you accused me of being unfaithful to my fiancee, then."

Sherlock thought for a few seconds then said, "I'm sorry for casting aspersions on your fidelity, John."

John regarded Sherlock for a moment. _That's probably the best I'm going to get out of him._

Sherlock added, "And the punch?"

"That was a bonus. My prerogative. It was my pleasure actually. Don't mention it."

John grinned.

Sherlock smiled slightly. He turned to the file and said, "Have a good read?"

John replied, "I did actually. So tell me, Sherlock, just so I can understand - what was it in here exactly, that points to Violet being a spy? I mean, I've spent ... hours ... looking at this stuff, and I can't see it."

Sherlock shrugged.

John was confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't had a look at it."

"What!?"

"Well, I've seen the photos, but that's it."

John sighed. He was really missing something.

"You're going to have to start from the beginning, Sherlock, because I understood that you broke up with Violet because she was a spy for ... I don't know. Who?"

"Jacob Venucci."

"Okay, good," said John, opening the file and rummaging through the papers. "I saw something on him... okay here. Just a brief bio ... he's the guy in the ... photos ... okay, so Violet's ex-lover. So.. this photo here..."

John took out the more recent photo of Violet and Jake kissing, carefully avoiding the photo of the explicit sex scene.

"This was taken a week after she moved in to Baker Street? So she met up with Jacob Venucci to do what? Give him an update?"

Sherlock examined the photograph properly this time. And this time he noticed Violet's lips were shut, and she had her hand pushed against Jake's chest.

_She was rebuffing him. _He_ kissed _her_. She was pushing him away._

"So... where does it say she's a spy? I assume you mean spying on you then?"

"Venucci paid Violet to ... live in Baker Street."

"Right, then," John said, sifting through the papers. "Where does it say that?"

"I don't know," said Sherlock irritatingly, "Some bank statement or something."

"Oh, okay, ... saw that." John retrieved several bits of paper stapled together. "Right, her bank statement, and they, I assume Mycroft's people, have highlighted one transaction... this one 'Deposit by J. Venucci... 800 quid'. Then..." He turned over several pages. "...Then, nothing. That's not a lot. 800 quid? You couldn't pay me 800 quid to hang out with you all day everyday, Sherlock."

"There must be some other payment somewhere."

Sherlock was getting annoyed.

"Ah..." John rifled through the papers. "... nope."

Sherlock's mind did some random calculations.

_£800. £800?_

_£100 rent per week, 4 weeks paid in advance plus 4 weeks bond._

_Equals £800._

_ A friend paid my rent. And the bond, actually._

John looked at Sherlock, then continued, "So where did this come from Sherlock? How does this get interpreted as a payment for spying on you?"

Sherlock was getting confused now. His head wasn't making the same logical connections he thought it Had made before.

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft?" repeated John.

"Mycroft told me... he said..." Sherlock tried to recall Mycroft's exact words.

_We suspect Venucci paid Ms Hunter to live here in Baker Street, to share in your cases with you Sherlock... And your bed._

_Mycroft said **We suspect...**  
Mycroft didn't know.  
He didn't **know**.  
He had no proof._

Realisation hit Sherlock like a wave.

Sherlock Holmes had the benefit of imagination. To take the evidence and use his knowledge of the world of crime, to use his imagination to make those connections where the official channels did not.

Sherlock hadn't used his imagination.

He had taken the word of Mycroft. He had relied on _Mycroft's imagination_ as evidence.

Why?

Because Mycroft had said, "You don't really think she could possibly be interested in you?"

And Sherlock's own belief that nobody would want _him_ matched Mycroft's statement. One truth in Sherlock's mind made the other assertions true.

But they weren't the facts.

Sherlock didn't have all the data.

Sherlock had embraced the one theory Mycroft presented him with, accepted the facts that supported it and discarded the ones that didn't.

"Sherlock?" John interrupted Sherlock's thoughts.

Sherlock stood up. His head was spinning.

He had to...

He walked toward the door.

"Sherlock! Where are you going?" John called after him.

"I just need to... get some air."

"Sherlock, the file!"


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Violet lay in the spare bed at Mandi's place, listening to the sexual gymnastics of Mandi and Gavin in the adjoining room. With a groan she reached over and grabbed her phone plus her headphones, put the buds in her ears, and cranked up the volume. She played "I've just been dumped" music.

So of course all her thoughts turned to Sherlock. She would only allow this indulgence on the weekends, oh and maybe some week nights. First she turned her thoughts to what she called the flirting, teasing days, and nights. Then there was the angst-filled days wondering if Sherlock had feelings for her or not. She didn't like to dwell on those too much. Next she liked to languish in the romantic, love-filled days. Her heart was full, but the tears were just around the corner. Because it ended. And she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, the exact deed, that was done to change Sherlock's feelings toward her.

She tried to remember that exact time. It wasn't the Nora thing. He was already distant before she told him, but her confession did make him vocalise his anger. Mistrust? He was going on about Jake. And when did he find out his name anyway? Did Nick tell him?

Oh, Nick! When Violet went inside leaving Sherlock and Nick outside on the pavement, what did Nick say to Sherlock?

But Sherlock was fine after that. They'd had amazing make-up sex the next morning. Then Sherlock had that riverside murder case. Violet was late home that Thursday night because of the costume thing, and Sherlock was drunk. Is that it? He was drunk because she was late? No, that couldn't be right. He would've had to start drinking earlier to be that out of it by the time she got home. He would've already been drunk by the time she texted him that she was going to be late.

How was he the morning she left? Fine.

Violet couldn't figure it out. At least her mental exercise had made her stop crying for a few minutes anyway.

He was really aggressive the night she told him about Nora. What was he saying? That she was false? What the fuck did that mean? So he thinks she lied about something. And what did he say about Jake? _Not a game I'm willing to play._ What game? Did he think she was carrying on a relationship with Jake? Or that Jake was competing against Sherlock, trying to win her affections. If so, why would he not be willing to play? Because he didn't want to fight for her? What would prompt him to say that? Nick, again? Maybe Nick did say something, then Sherlock went to... do what? Investigate her? What would he find? That she had lived with Jake? That wasn't a secret. No, what would he find about her and Jake that would make him distrust her - make him think that she had lied to him. Contacting Jake to help her with the Nora thing only magnified the jealousy he already felt. Unless that little spark of jealousy was what he already gotten from Nick.

_No, no, he was already drunk and upset before my Nora confession._

_My God I'm going round in circles._

And then he had said those hateful, hurtful things to her. About her needing a father figure. About being desperate. About having a dull existence.

And yet he still fucked her. Or allowed her to fuck him. Then he rejected her ... Violet started to cry again. ...Rejected her when she told him she loved him.

_Why, Sherlock?_

_Why are you being so horrid?_

_What happened to you? To us?_

Violet just wanted to know Why? Even if she never saw Sherlock again.

John.

John must know.

John had a fight with Sherlock when he went to Poland, and now John won't talk to her.

_So... John._

_I should go and see John._

Now that she had a purpose, Violet ripped the headphones off. The gyrations had ceased, thank goodness.

_First, a little introductory text._

VIOLET: [ John. I want to talk. Can we meet up? I'm going to stalk the fuck out of you until you say yes. x ]

She waited.

.  
JOHN:[ We're at home. Come over. ]

.  
JOHN:[ This is Mary btw ]

Oh. Thought Violet. Well, at least somebody there will let me in.

* * *

Sherlock was on his couch again. Not in PJs this time. And not lying down. He was expecting a client, but his thoughts had turned to Violet while he was waiting.

_Violet Hunter and the Great Big Sherlock Holmes Fuck Up._

He had an ache inside. This was the type you get when you know you've really, really done something wrong. A monumental fuck up, and there's no going back, there's no fixes, and there's no more...

[DOORBELL]

Violet.

"Sherlock, your client's here!" Mrs Hudson called. "Just go straight up," he heard her say to the person below.

Sherlock stood up.

"Ah, Mr Ferguson is it?"

* * *

"Would you like a cuppa, Violet?" Mary asked, putting her hand on John's shoulder as if to comfort him.

"Only if..." Violet looked over to John, "John is?"

John looked up at Mary and shook his head slightly.

"I'll leave you two to talk then," Mary said pleasantly and exited the room.

John looked over at Violet and smiled wanly.

Violet just had one question.

"Why, John?"

John sighed, and leaned forward in his chair.

"Violet, I ... well, what did he tell you? I mean, he broke up with you. Didn't he give a reason?"

"John, he didn't just say, 'Sorry Violet it's not working out, it's me not you, I need time to find myself ... in Poland. He got drunk. And while he was drunk he said 'Fuck me Violet, just one last time."

John cringed at Violet's blunt words.

Violet continued, "And that was only the start of it. No messages, no calls from Poland. And when he came back it was like there was nothing between us, until I told him about..."

She stopped. Should she tell John about the whole Nora thing?

"What?"

Violet breathed out, tears filling her eyes. So she told John the whole story, including the bits she didn't get round to telling Sherlock.

How she had contacted Jake Venucci for help after learning that Nora had been in Sherlock's flat. How she didn't even need to tell Jake anything, in fact he had always forbid her to say anything over the phone, but he would know she needed help. He had sent someone to talk to her. She told this man all about Nora, and gave him her photo. Somehow he was able to track her down.

Violet and two of Jake's guys visited Nora's flat. She wasn't home so they broke in. Violet told John all about Nora's shrine to Sherlock. Nora had walked in on them. She recognized Violet. She ran out and they chased her. One of the men grabbed Violet and hissed at her to stop running. They all got into their car, and drove in the direction Nora had fled. She'd gone to an overpass on a quiet section of the road. They got out of the car and Violet alone approached Nora, with Violet saying she just wanted to talk to her. Nora stood up on the railing, smiled at Violet before plunging to her death. Before Violet could yell out, one of the men had silenced her and they had grabbed her and shoved her back into the car. They had kindly explained to her afterwards that if there were any witnesses to Nora's suicide it wouldn't do for them to hear or see Violet there talking to her beforehand.

As the car sped away, Violet was shaken and trembling. As she sobbed, she heard one of the men giving someone else instructions on the phone. She later learned it was to the 'Cleaners' to remove all memorabilia to Sherlock inside Nora's flat - all photos, including computer files. They'd finished their job as Nora's body was being attended to by paramedics.

John was stunned. He thought for a moment. Violet sat there in silence too, wiping her tears away and waiting for John to respond.

"And this is what you told Sherlock before he broke up with you?"

"A cut-down version of it, yes."

"Did you mention Jake's name?"

"Yes, why?"

"Violet, don't take this the wrong way... okay, take it the wrong way, as that's the whole crux of this... this.. thing.. but... what is your relationship with Jake? I mean I know he's your... ex... ah, boyfriend."

John looked down for a second, not wanting to look at Violet as that photo which was embedded in his mind came to the forefront.

"Yes, he's my ex-boyfriend, but now we have quite an amicable relationship."

"Amicable? He organizes ... things for you. Gives you money. That's not something like taking turns sharing the puppy you bought together."

"That's because Jake is... who Jake is."

"I don't know who he is."

"He's a businessman. He organizes things, John." Violet said, smiling weakly.

"So if you broke up, why is he still...?"

Violet sighed. "It's a long story, John. He didn't treat me ... nicely when we were together. He's trying to make amends. He thinks he owes me a lot. He thinks he owes me a life."

John tried to understand what this meant exactly.

"And he paid you...?"

Violet looked at John for a moment.

"Where are you getting your information from?"

"Information?"

Violet smiled at John. "You've said twice now that he gives me money."

John returned her smile.

"I can see now why Sherlock liked having you around."

Voilet's smile faltered for a second.

John continued, "Ah, sod this, I'll just say it.. maybe it'll make sense to you. Sherlock received information that you... you were paid by Jake Venucci to spy on him. Sherlock, that is."

The revelation hit Violet like a thunderbolt. She slowly stood up, reflecting on those words. Jake paid her? Paid her to spy on Sherlock? Paid her to be with Sherlock? To have sex with him? To say she loved him? The consequences of thinking that that's what Sherlock believed were too horrible to consider. Violet breathed out a shaky shallow breath. She brought her hands to her face, and John could see he was trembling. She turned away from him.

Violet couldn't speak. Relief and horror both washed through her body. It wasn't anything she had done! ...But, he doesn't believe she loves him. He thinks she doesn't love him. He thinks she never loved him.

John stood up and moved over to Violet. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Violet, Sherlock..."

She dissolved into a flood of tears, and John pulled her in for a hug.

"Why?" she tried to ask, in between sobs, "Why would I ...? Why would he think Jake needed to... He doesn't think I love him. He thinks I lied about loving him. Oh John...!"

John held her for a while, listening to her sobs.

_These tears better be for real,_ he thought, _I hope for fuck's sake this is for real, because I can't tell._

* * *

Sherlock bid Mr Ferguson farewell. He had convinced Ferguson that his wife was in Columbia.

Sherlock sighed. Case open. Case closed.

And now, back to that sinking feeling.

Where was the file? Sherlock had put it on his desk. The useless file. John had chased Sherlock out of the lab with it, to make sure he got it back, as if it were something.

Sherlock opened it. He wanted to remove and burn all of the photos. He started sorting the papers into generic groups: Violet's early school grades, incident reports (Ben Moller jammed her thumb in a classroom window at age 9), school photos - sweet 16, theatre reviews, hospital files (almost overdosed on amphetamines at 18!?), letter from Copper Beeches about Violet's mother, more theatre reviews, bank statements, rental agreements, work history...

It was all so dull. Why hadn't Sherlock looked at this properly before? Because he had trusted his big brother's interpretation of the data.

Sherlock put down the rest of the papers without sorting them. He paced the living room, rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration.

_What could he do now?  
How can he get Violet back?  
How can he take back all those -hateful- things he said to her?  
He would have hurt her.  
He did hurt her.  
He couldn't take it back._

_It's too late._

_.  
I'm sorry Violet._

_I love you, too._

* * *

John couldn't convince Violet to stay - to talk some more. She had wiped her tears away, and resumed a more composed look.

"Look, I'll talk to him again? Get this sorted out. He's received some misinformation. Something's got interpreted all ... wrongly," John offered as he followed Violet to the door.

Violet stopped in the open doorway and gave John a small smile. She rubbed his arm and said, "Don't worry about it, John. He hates me. He said some ... horrid things. We can't go back now. It's too late."

"Violet, don't..."

She turned and left.

_...give up on him_, John finished, then he reluctantly closed the door.

Violet sat on the train in a trance.

She knew now. She hadn't done anything wrong.

_Sherlock Holmes was a stupid, fuckin' paranoid, cu.. of a man._

* * *

There were two things Sherlock Holmes had trouble doing: admitting he was wrong and asking for help. But that was something he was considering doing. He spent all of Sunday and the better half of Monday contemplating how he could go to John and tell him he'd spectacularly fucked up, and get his advice on how to mend his broken relationship.

He had no cases. And he was finding it extremely frustrating that he could devote his entire mental energy into coming up with a solution to this, but he couldn't solve it. What was the point of having this enormous brain power when he couldn't think of a way to fix this.

I have to enlist John's help. There is no way out of this.

He sent John a text.

SHERLOCK: [ Come over if not busy. If busy come anyway SH ]

JOHN: [ Got the late shift. Will come by tomorrow. ]

Sherlock lay back down on his couch.

_Tomorrow then._

* * *

Violet felt sick. Her usual demeanor-changing trick of forgetting all about her relationship troubles once she crossed the threshold of the theatre backstage door didn't work. Today was Tuesday. A quick dress rehearsal now (what was ever quick about a dress rehearsal?), another tomorrow, then a tech rehearsal tomorrow night, then opening night Thursday.

_I can't do this.  
I cannot do this._

_Sherlock.  
Sherlock.  
Sherlock._

_I hate you._

She leaned against the wall of the darkened corridor. She could hear the excited babble of her co-stars and backstage crew at the other end.

_I love you._

"Crying already, Hunter? Too soon, too soon!" laughed a stagehand, mimicking the director as he walked past her.

Violet angrily wiped away her tears.

_Goodbye Sherlock._

She walked down the corridor, passing promotional posters of herself embracing a WW2 soldier, and forced a smile on her face.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" was John's immediate reaction upon hearing Sherlock's revelation. John put his head in his hands as he sat on Sherlock's couch. "I don't know ... how ... you're going to talk your way out of this one. You're really screwed on this."

Sherlock frowned. This was not the advice he wanted to hear. He started pacing the room.

"Thank you, John. Helpful as always."

"What did you say to her, when you broke up with her?"

"Words," Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, if you want me to help you."

Sherlock stopped his pacing.

"I told her a few home truths about herself. My observations, that sort of thing."

"Christ, well that... yep, you're screwed. If I know you, and I do, only too well, then what you probably told her will sit with her for -_years_- to come. Nup, you're royally screwed on this one, Sherlock. I can't help you."

John stood up.

"What?" said Sherlock incredulously. "You're leaving?!"

"Crawl on your hands and knees and beg."

"That's ridiculous."

"Then just -_talk_- to her Sherlock. From the heart."

"From the heart. That means nothing."

"And there lies your problem."

Sherlock pondered John's words for a moment.

"And if you're going to talk to her, then don't do it in the next two weeks. She's doing her show. Don't fuck her up in the middle of it."

John grabbed his jacket and left.

* * *

"Ooh, look at you!" squealed Mandi, the morning after the show's open night. "You're a star! You're in the paper!"

"I'm on page 22."

"Oh, shush. I'm reading... ooh, surprising new talent, Violet Hunter..."

Violet went back to the kitchen to help herself to another bowl of cereal. She felt a little warm inside, hearing Mandi read out a whole bunch of praises for her performance last night. And she also felt sad, that she couldn't share this with... well, she didn't even want to think his name.

At least her dad had phoned and said nice things for a change.

The remaining shows were equally spectacular with the cast, and especially Violet, riding on a high of rave review after rave review.

Violet spent her days off either sleeping or in the company of the other cast members, basking in each other's glory. She had been spending most night's crying onstage as her part called for. On Sunday, she let herself cry for herself.

Monday and Tuesday during week two were days off also, and she helped Mandi paint her dining room. In stripes. The last five performances were Wednesday to Saturday, with two shows on the Saturday. Violet was exhausted.

She was dreading the after party.

Alcohol.

A couple of the male extras, her "rapists" were pretty cute. She knew they'd been flirting with her for weeks - trying to make her laugh to make light of the rape scene. She hadn't minded, but she didn't trust herself with drinking, and feeling like an utter reject.

So she asked Mandi to look out for her.

"I just want to celebrate. But don't let me have any more than four drinks. Take me home straight after, okay?"

"Sure!"

So how was it that Violet woke up the next morning in a bed in a strange hotel room, completely hungover?


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Oh my God. You've got to be joking.

Of course she recognized the room as a hotel room. She was facing the window. There was a bedside table with a lamp on it between the bed and the window. Looking down the length of the bed there was the obvious hotel bed style coverlet, and on the wall the obligatory landscape picture. She didn't dare turn over just yet.

_Let me see, clothes intact. Fully dressed, except for pantyhose and shoes. Damn. And..._

She felt herself.

_I'm sure I haven't been penetrated._

_No sex with random strangers then._

_Or hot young actors._

Maybe she got so drunk at the after party that one of her castmates or crew had given up the room they booked for the night for her. How kind.

But why didn't Mandi take her home? Maybe it was Mandi. It was Mandi's idea to stay over. Violet braved a slight turn of her body so she could check the other side of the bed. It was empty! But with a sinking feeling she noticed the depression in the other pillow. Someone had been asleep there...

Violet slowly sat up to look for evidence of this mysterious other person - clothes or something. Maybe they'd already left - as embarrassed as she was.

Is.

Then she heard the sound of the toilet flushing and then the hand basin tap running.

_Fuck_.

Violet went to lie back down, but then something caught her eye. She sat up again.

There, draped over one of the hotel chairs near the dresser was -

Sherlock's coat.

And on the floor beside the chair lay his scarf and jacket.

Of course they were Sherlock's. Nobody else wears anything like them.

The door to the bathroom clicked open. He came out wearing his shirt and trousers, shirt pulled out though, with his hair artfully tousled. He noticed her sitting there, staring at him in horror.

"Oh good, you're awake... And, of course you don't remember a thing, judging by that look on your face."

He frowned.

Violet slid over to the side of the bed and stood up quickly. A little too quickly.

"Ah, don't do that, here..." Sherlock had caught her before she fell and gently helped her to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Why...why are we here? Why are you here?" she asked in a croaky voice.

Sherlock went over to the mini bar fridge, opened it, and took out a bottle of water.

"We needed somewhere to talk. Away from everyone. What's the last thing you remember?" he asked gently, opening the bottle and handing it to Violet.

"I don't want to... Are you holding me hostage or something?"

She took a sip of water.

"What?"

"Did you kidnap me to get me to confess to spying on you?"

"What? Oh!"

He smiled and knelt down in front of her.

"No, we got back together last night. Don't you remember?" he said softly, looking up at her.

She looked back at him in disbelief.

"No."

Sherlock stood up, tutting.

"That's a shame. Now I'm going to have to have the whole conversation again."

He ran his hand through his hair.

Violet tried to stand up again.

"No, no, no, don't do that. You had way too much to drink. You really should've slept a bit longer. I was going to order you breakfast."

"I need to go..."

She managed to stand up, and Sherlock took the water bottle from her.

"Here..."

He tried to help her walk to the bathroom. But she shrugged him off.

_Great_, thought Sherlock sitting down on the bed. _Now we're going to have the whole shouting/face slapping conversation again. At least this time there won't be anyone else about. I wonder if she'll say exactly the same things? This will be an interesting social experiment._

He waited.

And waited.

Finally, he stood up and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Are you okay in there?"

"No," came a small voice, then the sound of the shower turning on.

Sherlock waited some more, pacing as much as he could in the confines of the hotel room. He thought he'd order room service anyway. He ordered for both of them then picked up his jacket off the floor, and brushed the fluff off it. He draped it over his coat then grabbed the tv remote control from the dresser. He was just flicking through the cable tv channels when Violet came out of the bathroom, wearing a hotel robe, and drying her hair with a towel.

"This has to be a really fuckin' good explanation to get from me hating you to us being back together," Violet snapped, putting the towel down on another chair.

"Oh good, you're relatively sober," Sherlock replied, switching the telly off. What he really wanted to do was to yell at her. How dare she make him go through this again, when she had the alcohol problem! But he couldn't. She's too sensitive and angry. He needs to keep her calm. He'll get to the same end result. He just had to be patient.

Violet sat back down in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get the tangles out.

Sherlock looked at her longingly.

_Can we just fast forward to the part where we have make-up sex_, he thought.

"Start," she said looking up at him, crossly.

_Patience. Don't snap back,_ thought Sherlock.

"Well, when I got to the after party, you were already drunk."

"No, don't start with the story about the party. Last night didn't happen as far as I'm concerned. Start with what you said to me to ... make me forgive you."

_Last night didn't happen? You're really not making this easy._

Sherlock turned one of the hotel chairs around to face the bed, and sat down on it, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

"It's not really that simple. I walked in, you saw me, ran up to me and threw your arms around me."

Violet narrowed her eyes.

"I wouldn't have done that."

"Well, you did. Then you slapped me."

"That I would've done."

"Yes, then, ah, Mandi slapped me as well."

In spite of herself, Violet smiled a little.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. "And some other woman, one of your actor friends, slapped me too."

"Good."

"And then I said I was sorry, and you and the two other females started yelling abuse at me."

Violet thought for a moment. _He apologized. For what? Everything?_

"Are you going to say you're sorry again for me now?"

Sherlock leaned forward again. He looked at her, and she stopped untangling her hair.

"I'm sorry, Violet. I got it ...wrong."

Tears stung Sherlock's eyes, and he looked down for a second. He breathed in and looked back up at her.

"I got it wrong, and I hurt you."

He stood up. This was easier to do last night. He just led Violet away from the other abusive females to a quiet corner in the hotel ballroom where the party was held and told her he was sorry again, and they had kissed. Well, she cried first and then they kissed.

He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window. He turned back to her.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Violet had turned around to look at him.

"No."

Sherlock frowned.

"Not good enough," Violet stated simply.

She turned back to the direction she was facing before.

_Okay_, thought Sherlock. _The yelling and tears are still to come. At least I got a few kisses in between each round of fighting last night._

He slowly walked back over to the chair and sat down again.

"I believed that Jake Venucci planted you in Baker Street to seduce me."

"Why?"

"Why did I believe that or why did he plant you there?"

Violet thought for a bit.

"Both."

"I believed it because I thought there was evidence to back it up." _Thank you, Mycroft,_ Sherlock thought, bitterly.

When Violet didn't respond, Sherlock continued, "I thought he wanted you to seduce me so that you could hear all about my cases."

"Why?"

"There may have been a case relevant to him."

Violet was silent for a moment while she absorbed this.

"And you didn't believe I loved you?" It was her turn to get teary eyed.

"Not... really." Sherlock clenched his fists with the discomfort he was feeling, and the way her eyes were penetrating him. She just swore a lot last night. This version of Violet was really disconcerting.

"Why?"

"I... didn't believe someone like you could ... possibly want me."

He stood up again, and walked over to the window again.

Violet got a lump in her throat this time. _He still doesn't believe..._

"Did you love me?" she asked him quietly.

Sherlock didn't expect this. He breathed deeply, looking out of the window. He could feel her staring at him.

"_Do_ you love me?"

He blinked, and clenched his fists again. _Just breathe, then say it._

"Well, fuck you, Sherlock," she got up off the bed suddenly.

"Violet..." _Why can't I say it! Just say it!_

She shrugged off the bathrobe, and Sherlock was momentarily distracted by her naked body. Violet continued walking into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

_Fuck! You fuckin' idiot!_ Sherlock swore at himself. He strode over to the bathroom.

"Violet!" he rested his forehead on the bathroom door.

There was a knock at the door to the room.

_Fuck!_

He opened it. _Room service. Great fucking timing room service._

Sherlock grabbed the tray and angrily signed for it. He put the tray onto the table in the far corner. A cloche covered the hot food. Sherlock had a sudden flashback to the cottage in Tavistock.

He sat down on the bed, and held his head in his hands.

_Why couldn't everything be back to the way it was before Mycroft's interference. How did everything get so fucking twisted._

He thought they were done talking after last night. He thought she had forgiven him and they were back together again. Although, there was that thought in the back of his mind that she wouldn't remember in the morning, but he had dismissed that. Bad move.

He hadn't had sex with her though. She seemed too drunk. She spent a lot of time trying to entice him to though.

Violet came back out of the bathroom, fully dressed.

"Did I have a bag?" she asked looking around the room.

"Violet, just..." He stood up.

"No, Sherlock."

Violet spied her bag dumped between the bed and the wall. She picked it up and swung it onto her shoulder.

"I don't know what happened last night, and I don't care to. It doesn't count. And I've got fuckin' love bites on my neck."

She glared at him.

_So have I, _Sherlock thought sadly. "Violet."

"I'm going home - to Mandi's. I'll...I just need time to think."

She made to leave.

"Violet, why can't we just keep talking here," Sherlock pleaded, his eyes watering. He moved towards her.

_Don't let her leave! You'll never see her again!_

"I'll come over in a day or two. Just let me go, Sherlock."

She looked at him with a hint of disappointment in her face.

"I saw your show," he said quietly.

"Last night?" Violet was momentarily thrown.

"All of them."

"All - ten of them?"

"Yes."

"You came to see my performance ten times?"

"Yes."

Violet kept her composure, but she had the sudden urge to run into his arms and stay there. Forever. But she couldn't. This was...

This was not good enough.

"I'll see you soon," she said finally, turning to leave.

"Violet! Why can't everything be back to the way it was?"

"Back to the way it was? What are you - a fucking child?"

But Sherlock couldn't let her leave now. This was madness. He grabbed at her arms so forcibly, that he shocked himself.

"No, Violet, this is fuckin' wrong! Don't go yet!"

"Don't, Nick!" she pleaded, pulling her arms about of Sherlock's grasp.

Nick!

They both froze - each reacting differently to Violet's slip up.

Sherlock was mortified, but he let her go.

* * *

Violet didn't cry in the taxi on the way back to Mandi's. She was seething. She rang her red-haired friend.

Mandi answered with, "And how are you two little lovebirds this morning?"

"What the fuck happened last night, Mandi!"

"Oh, and a thank you to you, too, Miss Grouchy-Pants!"

"What happened? Four drinks I said!"

"Excuse me, did you not just spend the night in a hotel room with the love of your life?"

"I don't know about that," Violet answered doubtfully.

"What?! Oh no, have you gone and done that thing where you don't remember what you did the night before?"

Violet sighed, "What happened?"

Mandi ignored her, her own curiosity mounting, "Oh my God, Vi! Did you just wake up next to Sherlock and freak out? The poor man!"

"Mandi!"

"And he tried so hard last night to beg for your forgiveness. Why, you're a harsh bitch, Violet Hunter!"

"Mandi!"

"And you were so happy! You told me he said he loves you at last! That's all you wanted to hear! And now you've gone and scared the poor dear, haven't you?"

.  
"Vi?"

"What did you say?" Violet thought she was hearing things.

"You've gone and scared him."

"No, before that. Did you say he said he loves me?"

"Yes! You were gushing he loves me, and you said he was getting a room upstairs so you could talk some more."

"But did he say... he loves me?" Violet was almost going to burst into tears.

"Well I wasn't there, honey. I didn't hear him. You seemed to think so."

.  
"Vi?"

"I'll be home soon."

Violet ended the call.

Then why didn't he say it?

* * *

Sherlock lay back onto the hotel bed going through the entire conversation in his mind. He would've rather dwelled on the conversation the night before, but that was null and void now.

Why couldn't he say it? He didn't say it, and that made her angry and want to leave.

It seemed different when she was demanding it. Last night he just said it the moment he felt it. And he had said it three times.

What am I supposed to do now? Wait til she comes over? She called him Nick! He had manhandled her, he saw that now.

But should he just go over to see Violet at Mandi's now? Serenade her? With flowers?

John.

Must ask John. He was the one who suggested going to the last show and seeing her at the after party. She would be impressed if Sherlock saw the last show, he had said. John didn't know Sherlock had already been there every other night.

Well John's plan almost worked. Except Sherlock had been thwarted by Violet and her stupid alcohol problem.

Sherlock got out his phone.

SHERLOCK: [ John. Need to debrief. SH ]

JOHN: [ Did it work? ]

SHERLOCK: [ No. Almost. ]

.  
JOHN: [ I'll be round in half an hour. ]

SHERLOCK: [ I'm not home yet. Make it an hour. ]

* * *

"I'm just getting changed, then I'm off again!" Violet yelled at Mandi as she hurried into Mandi's flat.

"Where are you off to?"

"I've gotta see Sherlock."

"You know, I feel sorry for him now that I know he has to put up with you and your mood swings."

A cushion came flying out of nowhere and almost hit Mandi on the head.

Violet came out of the spare room, wearing only a bra and a skirt.

"Can I borrow your deodorant? Mine's run out!"

"Sure. Why are you in such a hurry? Didn't you just leave him?"

"In the hotel room. I want to get to his flat for when he gets home, if he's not there already. I don't want him to feel sad a minute longer."

"Oh my God, Vi! You and your schizophrenic emotions!"

* * *

Violet alighted from the taxi and was again at the familiar residence at 221 Baker Street. Her heart beat faster as she unlocked the door and went inside. She should really go and say hello to Mrs Hudson, but now didn't seem to be a good time to. Violet was keen to get upstairs to see Sherlock.

He wasn't there. His flat was empty. Violet glanced at the back of the living room door. _No coat. Not back from the hotel yet._

She took a deep breath and glanced around. What a mess! Papers seemed to cover every available horizontal surface. He could really use some assistance around here, she thought smugly.

Violet smiled as she noticed last week's newspaper open on the coffee table which was turned to page 22.

_Looks like I have a fan, s_he mused.

She walked over to the living room table, noting the large pile of unsorted mail. She got a lump in her throat when she thought about Nora's mail.

And Nora.

_What's this?_

Violet noticed a piece of paper with her name on it.

_That's my Year 5 school report. And..._

Violet noticed several bits of paper all with some sort of reference to her. Next to the piles was a file box, with...

Violet sifted through it.

_Everything, everything in here is about me. What the fuck... was he investigating me? What is this?_

Horrified, Violet pulled out the pile of photos from the bottom of the box.

_Oh my God. He had me followed in Manchester. He barely knew me then. Was he doing some creepy stalking?_

Violet blanched when she got to the photo of her and Jake taken years ago.

_Jake. Look at him, the coked-up fuck. And me! Sherlock saw this?!  
How did he get this?_

Violet dropped the photo in disgust. She recalled John's words "Sherlock received information that..."

_This is what he received? This file? Or just more bits to add to his sick collection?  
This can't be right. He can't have all this. Not when I...  
Not when I love him.  
And he loves me.  
Not now._

_But he has my whole life in a box.  
A box!  
And it's nothing to him. Just bits of paper scattered about._

_Did we actually have a relationship, or am I just an obsession?_

Another piece of paper caught Violet's attention. A letter. This one had the letterhead "Copper Beeches".

With trepidation she picked it up and began to read.

Violet couldn't breathe. The whole world began to spin.

_No!  
This can't be true!  
She couldn't have been.  
Please God, no!  
They lied.  
They lied to me._

Violet let the letter drop.

She had to go.  
She couldn't be here when he got back.  
She couldn't face him.

And he knew she didn't want him to investigate it. And he did anyway. It was just a game to him. A puzzle to solve. She was a puzzle to solve. And what would he do once he solved her? Move on to the next?

She had to go.  
She couldn't be here any longer.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Just give her a day to think about things," John had advised him. "If she loves you still, she'll appreciate the space, and you can then go round there later and both talk rationally."

_If she loves you still...? ...Rationally? Violet?_

Sherlock didn't like the sound of any of that. But he had waited all the same. He spent almost an entire 24 hours lying on his couch in his grey pyjamas.

_Violet._

He was sorry. He had said so. She didn't respond in the right way and he hadn't said those words she wanted to hear. Those stupid stupid words. Ones he'd already said in the heat of the moment the night before.

He knew what was happening. The release of chemicals in the brain, including pheromones and serotonin, accounting for his desire to choose Violet as his long term mate, as opposed to his previous and temporary objects of lust. He couldn't say all that to her though. John was right. There was only one response to her question, and he had blown it.

Monday afternoon he decided it was time to go to Mandi's and plead for Violet back. Whatever it took. His opening phrase would be, "I love you."

Or maybe not his opening phrase.

Maybe, "Hello, Violet." then "I love you."

_Yes._

_Good._

That's what she had wanted to hear, before he tripped over his own emotions. Before he'd acted aggressively, and she had called him 'Nick'. Is that why she hadn't come over yet?

He showered and hurriedly dressed and was out the door within 15 minutes.

On the taxi ride over, he felt very nervous. Why should he feel nervous? He had stared down burly, psycho criminals now and then...

His confidence was shot. He was full of self-doubt. This was Sherlock Holmes now. Sherlock Holmes - once so self-assured, calculating, logical, cold, emotionless - was a man of the distant past. Was that a good thing?

Once out of the taxi he stared at the facade of Mandi's flat. He had never been here before, but of course he had easily found out the address.

He took a deep breath, and approached the door.

He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Mandi opened the door. She didn't look too happy to see him.

"Mandi, hi."

Sherlock tried his special smile, but Mandi frowned instead.

"She isn't here," she said.

Sherlock's heart sank. "Where is she?"

"She took an early train to Manchester."

Sherlock had a moment of panic.

"Why?"

"She's got an audition. I'm surprised you don't already know all this," Mandi added sarcastically.

"What? Why?"

"You're a sick man," she said with a scowl, and went to close the door on him.

Sherlock stepped forward, putting his hand out to stop Mandi closing the door.

"Hey!" she gasped.

"What did you mean?" he whispered menacingly.

"Get out, you creep, or I'll call Gavin. Gavin!" she yelled back into the house.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Gavin's not here. Don't try to trick me."

A look of terror came into Mandi's eyes. Sherlock thought the better of his next move and decided to try a different approach. He bowed his head, took a deep breath out, then looked back up at her.

"Look, I'm sorry Mandi," he said in a soft voice. "I thought Violet and I were on the way to getting back together. I don't know what happened in the hotel room. She was just so upset she left."

Mandi sighed and thought for a moment.

"It wasn't the hotel, it was all those papers she found in your flat. She said you had a file on her. That's really, really not normal, you know?"

"What? When was she at my flat?"

"After she left the hotel. She came home for a minute to change, then went to your place. She was so upset when she got home. She could hardly talk about it. She just kept crying... "

Mandi looked sternly at Sherlock, "You know you need help, don't you? Normal people don't go and investigate their girlfriends and keep files and photos of them having sex with their old boyfriends. You're really sick, you know that? And she was so upset that you found out her mother was alive!"

Sherlock was shocked. She had gone to his flat. And found the file? Fuck! He'd left it with the papers all over his desk. Idiot! What about her mother? He had to talk to her. Sort this out...

"Wh-when will she be back?" he asked, feeling sick inside.

"I'm not sure if I should tell you any more. Please let me close the door or I will scream."

Sherlock took his hand off the door, and stepped back outside. Mandi slammed the door shut.

* * *

"Just ring her, John please. She won't answer when I ring."

John was taken aback by the desperateness he could hear in Sherlock's voice over the phone.

"Look I'll text her in a little while - it will be obvious if I ring her straight after you have."

There was silence for a moment or two, which John felt compelled to end.

"Look I'll come over if you want, so if she rings me I can put you on."

"Thank you, John."

When John arrived in Baker Street he found Sherlock standing by the fire, burning the last of Violet's papers.

_Bit late for that now_, thought John.

"I've texted her, she hasn't replied yet," he said to Sherlock's back.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied, without turning around. He stayed staring into the fire.

John sat down in his old chair. He thought he'd explained the file thing to Violet. No, he didn't. He neglected to say it was all Mycroft's work. Dammit!

"You missed one," John pointed to a piece of paper that was on the floor by the desk.

Sherlock went over to it and picked it up.

Copper Beeches.

He hadn't read this one properly. He quickly scanned it.

"John, " he said. "No wonder she was upset. Look at this..."

He handed John the letter.

Sherlock continued talking, his mood picking up, "Copper Beeches. What did you say that day? You were reading it on my laptop. Some consortium turned it into..."

"...a mental asylum. Although its not called that these days, of course."

"Her mother was there. The dates don't match."

Sherlock paced the room thinking. "She said her mother died when she was five years old. In a car crash."

"And this says 'Therese Hunter was admitted to Copper Beeches after she attempted suicide by deliberately crashing her car. Her daughter was in the car with her at the time.' Violet? It goes on to say that she posed a threat to herself and others. She was there for ten years before... oh, before overdosing on sedatives she had saved up. Bloody hell!"

"So she was alive until Violet was in her teens or there about."

"And Violet didn't know?"

"Until she found her papers on my desk."

Sherlock started pacing the room.

"So we can just explain to her..." John began.

"Explain what? She hates me. She thinks I'm... disturbed or something."

"Once we explain it all to her... Look, Sherlock, Violet is quite intelligent. She can understand everything that's happened once we tell her everything - about the file, that it was all Mycroft - well mostly Mycroft, and your stupidity in believing him."

Sherlock stopped pacing, the earlier look of defeat returning to his features. He sat back down in his armchair.

"Can you keep trying to reach her, John? I..." Sherlock stopped talking to stare into the fire. He didn't have any hope for them at all.

"I will, Sherlock, don't..." John looked over at his friend - a shadow of his former self: shoulders slumped, no light dancing in his eyes, visible lines etched his face. "Of course I will."

* * *

_Fucking Manchester,_ thought Violet.

"Ms Hunter? We have your rooms all ready. It's so lovely to see you again. Please come this way. May I take your luggage? It's wonderful you could come over from London..."

_Please stop sucking up. I'm not going to run off to Jake and report how good or bad your hospitality is._

Once Mrs Doherty the landlady had left her alone, Violet drifted over to the window and looked out.

_Hello Manchester. Are you raining again? Or crying because I'm here._

Violet felt numb. She wanted to believe Sherlock loved her in a normal, healthy relationship kind of way, but the presence of the file and its contents was far too disturbing.

She rested her forehead on the window pane. Rain and tears fell together.

_Oh, Sherlock._

_I loved you. Did you ever love me? Did you fall in love with me, or did you become obsessed with finding out all about me after I moved in?_

_Did you fall in love with me, like I fell in love with you?_

There was a gentle knock at the door. Violet didn't turn around.

_Whoever it is can fuck off, because Manchester and I are having a good cry together._

"And here we are again," said Jake as he strolled into the room.

"Go away. You've broken up another relationship of mine," Violet said sullenly, still looking out the window and wiping her tears away.

"And how did I do that?"

"By existing."

Jake laughed. "I don't know how that works. I broke up you and Nick, from all the way over here in Manchester, and now you and..."

"Sherlock."

"Come on. I'm taking you out to dinner."

"No," Violet replied, still not turning around. "Someone might photograph us together."

Jake sighed. "Is that was this mood is about? Well you know I'm under surveillance. Why should that surprise you?"

Violet turned around. "It just shits me. Why do you have to be under surveillance?"

"Because I'm a bad boy." He grinned.

Violet turned back to the window.

"Go away. You've been here almost as long as it takes to have sex. So just go, before anyone puts that information into their little notepad. Probably that guy in the black car down there."

Jake ventured over to the window and stood behind Violet.

"Ah. Jeremy."

"You know their names?"

"It's been a few years."

Jake put his hands on Violet's shoulders, and kissed the top of her head.

"Okay, I'll be off then. Ring me, as usual, if you need anything."

He walked back over to the door and paused in the doorway, looking back at her.

"When's your audition?"

Violet turned to him.

"One's tomorrow, and then another on Friday. I'll stay til I hear back from them, then stay on if I get a part, or go back to London."

"Good. We'll have dinner."

"No, we won't... thanks for coming to the show by the way. Great that you made the effort this time," she said sarcastically.

"Next one, I promise!"

Violet regarded him.

_He's here for me. He always is. He's always trying to make up for what he did._

She smiled at him.

"Thank you, Jake. For everything."

Violet left the window and walked over to him. Jake smiled and held out his arms. Violet allowed herself to be enveloped in his embrace. She started crying again, and Jake gently rubbed her back, soothing her.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'll stay as long as you like."

* * *

It was a week and a half later that John received a text from Violet.

VIOLET: [ Been to Manc. Sucked at auditions. Coming back to London, another audition, then off to Australia. ]

.  
JOHN: [ What? Australia? That's a big move? ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Holiday. 3 wks with Mandi. Say hi to Mary x ]

.  
JOHN: [ Pls come visit before u jet off. ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Will try x ]

* * *

(4 weeks later)

VIOLET: [ Back! Australia was amazing! Got a part! Big surprise coming up. Watch telly! ]

.  
JOHN: [ Welcome back! Congratulations! Mary said come over for dinner when u can. ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Will do x ]

* * *

"How was Abu Dhabi?" John asked Sherlock, as he entered his flat.

"Hot. Humid," Sherlock replied, unpacking boxes of chemistry equipment onto his dining table.

"You've got a tan."

"I don't tan, John."

"How was the case?"

"Solved."

John sighed, and moved to put the kettle on.

"Violet's back," he said from over his shoulder.

"Back from where?" Sherlock asked, not looking up.

John looked at Sherlock quizzically.

"Australia."

Sherlock scoffed.

"Australia! That's on the other side of the world."

"Yes, good, Sherlock. Well done."

John busied himself with the tea things. He was feeling guilty. This guilt had grown considerably over the last few weeks as he thought about his own involvement in Violet and Sherlock's breakup.

_If only I didn't give him the file back._

_If only I had told Violet it was all Mycroft's work._

He continued, "So, er... she's coming over to dinner on Saturday night."

"Good. You're all eating a meal together. Excellent!"

"Why don't you come along?"

Sherlock stopped what he was doing, and looked at John suspiciously for a moment.

He discarded the sarcastic tone he had been using up until now and said, earnestly, "She went to the other side of the world to be as far away from me as possible, John. I get it. We're done. We're through. And the sooner you get over that, John, the better off we'll all be."

Sherlock put down the distillery tube and strolled over to his laptop.

"Now. A case. Fancy a short trip over to Dublin?"

.

.

~ END OF PART ONE ~

.

.

* * *

**Author's bit:**_ I know!_ You didn't know the story was in parts? Me neither! But I was going to end the story here - with a very brief epilogue AND a promise to write a sequel (the plot of which has already been outlined in my mind).

BUT then I felt too sad and guilty, and there was that feeling in the back of my mind that y'all be too teary and/or angry (or worse - ambivalent!) and you mightn't return or seek me out to find the sequel later. And I've already written the first two chapters of that. Happy days!

So...I decided to just keep adding to this story. Please come back in a day or so... the epilogue, now called an Interlude, will be waiting for you... then a couple of days after that, the next chapter, the start of Part Two, will be uploaded. All shiny and new, and happiness reigns, I promise!

But please please please review! I cannot beg you more than that!

x


	24. Chapter 24 A Very Brief Interlude

**A Very Brief Interlude**

"No, he's not the father," yelled Sherlock, "Wait for the DNA report!"

"Watching crap telly again?" asked John, entering Sherlock's living room and noticing Sherlock sitting in his armchair, legs propped up on a side table, in his button up shirt, trousers and second best dressing gown.

"They keep assuming Shaun is the father when clearly he's not. Look even Christa is getting pissed off with them all."

"Christa's always pissed off. It's the permanent scowl of the pregnant teenager."

Sherlock was silent as he continued watching the soapie, nervously tapping his index finger on the side of the chair, until the ad break. John looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

"I see you've bought all the gossip mags again?" he commented, nodding to the living room table.

"Oh. Yes."

Sherlock got up and walked over to his desk.

"Well this one says that Christa gives birth to twins, while this one says Soap Star Shock Stillbirth. I don't know which one to believe as both articles seem to lack the necessary evidence."

John laughed. "Actually neither is true. Christa gives birth to a healthy baby boy, and names him after her dead brother. A touching scene apparently."

Sherlock looked over to John suspiciously.

"What are you talking about? It hasn't been on yet!"

John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"Sherlock, this isn't live! These scenes were recorded five weeks ago! They're currently recording the hospital scenes now. Violet just told me the other day that she annoyed the director because she was laughing so much during the birth scene."

John took in the look of astonishment on Sherlock's face.

And then Sherlock's expression changed.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, mind seized with enlightenment. "So, there are people walking around the streets at the moment - actors, tv crew, caterers, cleaners - who know what is going to happen five weeks from now! Oh! This is good..."

He started pacing.

"Sherlock."

"So, the scripts have already been written; sets organised, actors muttering their lines on train journeys - those long, mundane train journeys between home and set..."

"Sherlock!"

"The script left open in the coffee shop; the actor, poorly paid and in need of a..."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock snapped out of his monologue, "What?"

"You can't devote your days of having no cases to trying to find out the next five weeks of what happens on Regency Road! I'm not even supposed to know. Violet swore me to secrecy. You can't repeat what I've just told you. These things are bigger than state secrets. Don't even mention it to Mrs Hudson!"

Sherlock scowled and returned to his chair as the commercial break finished.

He watched Violet on-screen, playing the character of 17 year old Christa, 8 months pregnant (father unknown as yet ... definitely NOT Shaun), always sulking, and telling people to 'Sod off!'.

Sherlock hated her hair - her long black hair, with matching dark eyeliner. She didn't even look like Violet. Christa never smiled.

He continued watching Violet, until the show focused on another group of characters, prompting Sherlock to tut, call out "Boring" and wander back over to the table. He started flipping through one of the magazines.

John put his paper down and watched Sherlock with mild amusement.

"You know, you don't have to watch tv soaps and buy crap magazines in order to see Violet."

"I don't," Sherlock replied simply.

"She does ask about you, you know."

"Does she."

John sighed.

"I did tell her that the file came from Mycroft."

"Oh good."

"Don't know why I bothered," muttered John.

John's phone buzzed and he took it out of his jacket pocket and read the screen.

"Mary's finished work. I'm off."

He stood up, putting the newspaper down on his vacated seat.

"Dinner Saturday?"

Sherlock didn't look up.

"No, John."

"Right. Okay. See you later then."

John left.

Sherlock was staring at a magazine article titled "Regency Rebels in Club Spree".

Sherlock lifted the magazine up to the height of his eye line. He narrowed his eyes as he peered at the photo of Violet coming out of a nightclub with a couple of other young actors he recognized from the soap.

"Are you drunk, Violet?" he muttered. "You don't look drunk."

Sherlock's phone rang. He picked it up from the desk and checked the screen.

_Lestrade. Excellent._

"Hello, Detective Inspector!"

.


	25. Chapter 25

**~ PART TWO ~**

**Chapter 25**

Sherlock pulled his grey coat around him. It wasn't quite spring, so the night air was still chilly and he had forgotten his scarf. _It didn't quite go with this coat anyway,_ he thought. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled pack of cigarettes. There were four left. Enough for this evening anyway. He leant against the brick wall outside the club and lit up.

He dragged on the cigarette, feeling the familiar burn of the smoke in the back of his throat as he inhaled, allowing it to permeate his sinuses, giving him that dizzying feel in his head and gripping his lungs. Then he exhaled - the smoke forcefully expelled from his lungs through his mouth. He watched the other patrons all queueing, laughing or scowling in the line outside the nightclub. He checked his watch: _11:30pm. Not too early, not too late,_ he thought.

Sherlock took a couple more drags on his cigarette, leaning his head back against the brick wall, considering the night ahead. _Time to go in_, he thought. Time to enter the club, and begin the search in his usual manner. He discarded his cigarette on the pavement, crushing it with his heel. He then walked along the line of people outside the club to the club entrance, nodded in recognition of the bouncer at the door, and entered amidst the protests of the people at the front of the queue who were denied the same privilege.

_I hope I get lucky tonight,_ he thought.

* * *

Violet laughed at Braydon's joke. At least that was what she was meant to do. The group of the young, hip stars of Regency Road, the "Rebels" were supposed to be that: rebellious, defiant, and reckless with a sprinkling of smut.

Violet was none of those things.

Her publicist had said, "If you want to stay employed, you need to live the part."

_What bullshit._

It was getting all too challenging for Violet to pretend to drink; to quickly order her own drinks - tonic water, instead of vodka, coke and more tonic water instead of whiskey - before anyone else could for her. And of course she had to avoid the boutique, pre-mixed drinks anyone offered her. Except for Matt. Matt was her brick. Matt was the new hotty mechanic, and Regency Road's newest tease. She had confided in Matt that she couldn't - _shouldn't_ - drink. And he had confided in her that he was gay. It was a perfect match really. He sometimes bought her drinks, the non-alcoholic variety, and Violet hung around him, to ward off any unwarranted attention from other women.

_I'm sure they don't pay me enough for this. This is like living in a reality tv show._

Violet scanned the club - their favourite haunt. Kabuki Pirates was a relatively new club in the central London area. It was based on the club of the same name in Manchester, itself a reboot of an 80's Manchester club, pivotal in its heyday for launching the career of many 80's English club bands.

Kabuki's boasted three floors with a central atrium so that punters could view the dance floor down below from any of the balcony floors above. Each floor had its own bar and on this night, Friday night, the patrons were about five deep at each of them.

The Regency Rebels were gathered in a private booth on the first floor, not too available to the public, but not entirely invisible either.

Violet stood up, leant over and kissed Matt on the forehead, then walked off in the direction of the bathroom for the upteenth time. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not making eye contact, giving the impression that she was too good for any of them. Violet entered the bathroom and headed straight for a cubicle, ignoring the smattering of girls reapplying eyeliner or straightening their hair with their fingers, or just leaning on the basins and chatting. There was a flurry of whispers as she shut and latched the door of the cubicle. She put the lid down on the toilet seat, then sat on it, resting her head on her arms.

_I'm sure some people think I'm coming here this often to do coke. Why am I here? I used to like clubs. That was a life and a half ago. Now I just want to be home, in a warm bed, cuddled up with..._

She didn't dare think his name. It was like he didn't exist anymore. Just a name that came up in conversation with John and Mary now and then, and gave her pains in the pit of her stomach. Longing, stifling, suffocating pains.

John and Mary had told her, over the course of a few weeks of dinners, lunches, and shopping sprees (Mary only) all about Sherlock and Mycroft's file, and how badly Sherlock had felt, and how much he had obviously loved her. These days, even with her heavy work schedule (filming and public appearances) Sherlock was all she could think about.

She came out again, and leant on the corner of the wall at the end of the passageway which lead to the toilets. She looked over at her group in their private booth and sighed. She checked the time on her phone. _1:15. Yes! Only 15 minutes to go_. 1:30am was her absolute limit.

She scanned the rest of the bar. It was pretty crowded now. People, guys mostly, kept coming up to her and saying things she couldn't understand, except for the "Where's the baby?" comments. They were getting boring and predictable, she thought. Even the words 'boring and predictable' reminded her of Sherlock, she lamented.

The music was too loud; the people too drunk and incoherent. Violet walked over to the balcony and watched the dance floor down below for a little while.

Luckily her alter-ego was so sour - unsmiling and unfriendly. It was easy to play that part, and ignore anyone who was trying to talk to her. Or tell them to fuck off.

And then she saw him.

He was sitting at the bar down near the dance floor with a blonde. He was whispering something to her, and she laughed. He casually brushed his hand on her leg, then he sat back and took a sip from his glass and surveyed the dance floor for a moment. He then continued talking animatedly to her, and she kept laughing. She was leaning in closer to him, showing him her cleavage, no doubt.

Violet felt ill at the sight of Sherlock behaving in this way.

And he was in _her_ club.

He can't have her club as his latest pick up joint.

He was wearing a charcoal grey coat. Almost black. _A new coat. A new life. A new fuck._

Violet was so upset. John never said Sherlock was doing this again. She had hinted to John on several occasions that she wouldn't mind if he and Mary also asked Sherlock over to dinner on the odd Saturday night that she dined with them.

Sherlock always said no, John had said.

And now she knew why. He had obviously moved on.

She hadn't.

She was still pining for him.

_Pathetic._

_Pathetic Violet._

She decided that now would be a good time to leave. She wouldn't leave with any of the others. Perhaps she could slip quietly out the back door, so she wouldn't be photographed this time. Sometimes Serge the owner let them do that if someone was feeling ... poorly.

Violet turned around to start planning her escape route when Chenoa, her other young, hot-looking, but very blonde female co-star ran over to her, gushing, "Violet! There you are! Quick, they're going to play our song - we have to get downstairs!"

"No, I'm ..." Violet started to protest, but Chenoa hissed in her ear, "Nobody likes your baby bump - this will increase your ratings, remember! Both our ratings! You don't want to die from a post-natal depression suicide do you?"

_Yeah, nobody also liked Chenoa's character Caity slapping Regency Road's favourite Granny. That wasn't a good scene, script writing team._

Violet reluctantly held Chenoa's hand as they descended the spiral staircase down to the dance floor amid the stares of those clubbers who recognized them.

Chenoa led Violet to the middle of the floor. As the slow tempo of the sultry sex beat was pumped out onto the floor, Chenoa pulled Violet into a tight embrace. Violet put one hand around the back of Chenoa's neck, tangling themselves in her blonde hair, and the other around her waist, while Chenoa had both hands around Violet, slowly caressing her bare back, left exposed by her halter-neck dress. Chenoa and Violet rocked their hips together and slowly and seductively slid their hands over each other's curves to the beat of the music.

Violet gently moved a strand of hair from Chenoa's neck. Then she bent towards her and whispered into Chenoa's ear, which gave the impression she was kissing her there, "I fucking hate you, you stupid cow. Don't ask me to ever fuck you on the dance floor again after this!"

Chenoa just turned around to slowly rub her back against Violet's front.

"Get angry, Christa! You know they love it!" Chenoa tilted her head back into Violet's neck, as Violet's wandering hands drifted dangerously close to Chenoa's breasts.

"Threesome, ladies?" Matt, whispered into Violet's ear as he came up behind her.

"What took you so long?" Violet whispered back.

Violet was conscious of the odd camera phone being held up on either side of them.

As some of the other clubbers around them, who were oblivious to who they were, continued to jump, dance and gyrate, Violet occasionally glimpsed Sherlock and slutty-bimbo seated by the bar through the crowd. They, as well as many other patrons, had their attention on the dance floor to watch the young celebrities. Violet noticed in one of those brief glimpses that Sherlock's trashy tramp had her hand on his thigh.

Violet saw red.

_It's time to claim what's mine._

She decided to keep her attention on Sherlock. Chenoa had moved on to gyrate with another Regency bod, Braydon, so Violet turned around to face Matt, and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Ramp it up a little, gay boy," she whispered.

Then she turned her back on him again and looked at Sherlock with her fuck me stare, lips parted slightly, as Matt ran his hands all over her body, and pulled her closer to him, breathing into her neck.

"Can I pretend you're Nathan?" he whispered into her ear.

"Where is he tonight?" She put one hand back to caress Matt's neck, and held one of his other hands to her waist.

"At home, crying over the washing up, probably."

"Poor baby."

They continued their slow, intimate dance as Violet continued to stare at Sherlock. _Could I pretend this is Sherlock pressed against me? _Violet imagined his lips on her neck, as Matt's breath cooled her skin; Sherlock's arms pulling her in tight. He was still watching her - watching Violet fantasizing about him. Violet smirked ever so slightly and winked at him.

A few people on either side of Sherlock, as well as his fuck-bimbette noticed Violet eyeing him.

Sherlock's face was mildly amused.

Harriet-hanger-on whispered something in Sherlock's ear. He frowned.

_It's time to make my move, _Violet thought. _But I have no idea what that is yet._

She turned again around to Matt and whispered in his ear as she caressed his face, "I'm leaving you, lover boy, but don't be sad."

Then she disengaged from his embrace and made her way over to Sherlock.

_I haven't really thought this through, _she thought._ But John better be right about Sherlock having an obsession with Christa_.

Violet couldn't bear the thought of Sherlock going back to this other woman's place, or worse - an alleyway. She tried not to imagine Sherlock fucking her - this other slut groaning and gasping while he was pleasuring her.

Not - her - Sherlock!

Sherlock was seated on a bar stool, his knees slightly apart.

_Good. Inviting._

But the female hand was on his leg, still claiming him.

_Too bad._

Violet stalked up to Sherlock, and despite his shocked look, she slid in between his legs, and put her hands around his neck, gently caressing it. Her heart beat faster, both with nervousness and the excitement at touching familiar skin, entwining her fingers in his curls, and staring into those cold, grey eyes.

He looked at her, expectantly, a wry smile forming on his lips.

"Excuse me!" said Bimbette, removing her hand from Sherlock's thigh in disgust.

Without really thinking, Sherlock slowly put his arms around Violet, and moved his face toward hers, breathing her in.

"James!" said Ms Trashy-Trollop warned.

_James?_

Violet leant in and whispered, "James, you're going to rescue me from this hell hole!"

She nibbled at his ear, then moved around to kiss him on the lips. Sherlock returned her kiss, hungrily, and he pulled her in tightly so she could feel he was already hard for her.

"What the fuck...!" Sherlock's 'date' hissed.

There were wolf-whistles and shouts around them, but Violet was oblivious. She was kissing Sherlock at last, and he seemed to want her too. She could feel him against her, and all commonsense disappeared in favour of carnal lust.

She pulled out of the kiss, eventually, and whispered, "Come with me, now!"

She gently pulled on Sherlock's coat lapel, and he rose to follow her. He grabbed her hand. He was ignoring the swearing going on as he left his date.

Violet led him around the edge of the dance floor, through the tables and booths to the men's toilets on the ground floor.

"Violet!" Sherlock hissed in alarm.

This wasn't how he imagined his night turning out. He expected to go home alone, half drunk, disappointed yet again that he hadn't seen Violet. At least that's how the last three consecutive Friday nights had gone for him. Ever since he had read in Snapx magazine that Kabuki's was the nightclub of choice for hot young celebrities (with an accompanying photo of Violet exiting said club) Sherlock had decided it would be a good plan to 'bump' into Violet there. This was his preference over having dinner at John and Mary's where the conversation would be stilted and there would be pressure on Sherlock and Violet from their hosts to... what? Reconcile? Play Charades? Or worse - _Pictionary_.

But she hadn't been back there since that magazine article was published. To pass the time each Friday night, Sherlock took to 'chatting' to available, young women. Okay, old habits die hard - there was some flirtation, but he always, purposefully, bought them too many drinks, so he could deposit them into taxis, alone and too drunk to be even slightly appealing to him.

But tonight he got lucky - _she was here! _And he had been too busy chatting to ... what was her name again - Tiegan, Tianna, Tikana, whatever - and hadn't noticed Violet coming in. He could have kicked himself. He had already walked the floors a couple of times, scanning the crowd for her, and checking out the private booths. He hadn't spotted her though.

Then there was all that commotion about who was on the dance floor doing what to whom. Sherlock looked over as he always did every Friday night. It was always two or more young celebrities making out or whatever in the middle of the floor. His stomach lurched when he recognized Violet.

He'd only seen her dance once before. And that was for him only. She had put music on, and did a special dance for him one night after returning home from a rehearsal. She had found him in one of his low moods. She danced seductively then, stripping down to her bra and knickers before he interrupted her dancing in order to ravish her.

And she was dancing like that again, leaning against that mechanic guy - _gay_, thought Sherlock - but she was looking at him, Sherlock, as if this dance was solely for him again. He hoped she wasn't going to disrobe here in the nightclub. He found her dancing a bit disconcerting at first. Sherlock's initial impression was that a 17 year old teenage girl was doing a sultry dance for him, but then she smirked, and winked. And she looked just like Violet - his Violet! - in that instant. And he had felt a familiar stirring. At that moment Tegan (Tania?) whispered, "Let's go back to my place!" and he was jolted back to reality...until Violet had approached him.

As they entered the men's room they noticed there was only one other body in there, standing at the urinals, and he didn't acknowledge their presence. Violet pulled Sherlock into a cubicle and quickly latched the door shut. Sherlock was not quite registering what was happening. He had had a few.

"If you're going to fuck somebody tonight," Violet whispered in his ear as she pressed her body up against his, and started undoing his belt buckle, "it may as well be me, not her!"

Sherlock was momentarily stunned.

"Violet!" he said in a loud whisper. "I don't want you like this!"

"Then how do you want me?" Violet asked seductively.

She had unbuckled and unzipped him by now. She turned around while pressing her back into him, and slid her hand into his trousers. "Like this?"

She started massaging him with one hand, and moved the other hand behind his neck.

Sherlock moaned into her neck, as his hands slid over Violet's thighs then tried to slide Violet's dress up over her hips.

"No," he whispered, but his hands still slid the dress upwards. Her dress was pulled up to her waist now, and Sherlock navigated one hand inside Violet's g-string, those long, slender fingers of his finding the warmth between her legs. Violet gasped as he slid his other hand into the front of her dress, her low-cut dress, exposing her cleavage, to caress her breasts through her bra.

"No, not here," he whispered unconvincingly into her neck as her hand moved harder and faster, and so did his. His lips brushed the side of her neck as Violet rubbed against him.

The only other sounds they could hear were the dull, repetitive thud of the nightclub music, muffled mostly but occasionally audible as the door to the men's room would open and close; and their breathing - shallow and quick, in time to the rhythm of their hands.

"James," Violet murmured, which had the effect of splashing cold water over Sherlock. He withdrew his hands, then grasped Violet's hand, gently guiding it out of his trousers.

"No."

Violet turned back around to face him.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, her hand wandering downwards again.

Sherlock couldn't get his thoughts together.

"Don't... call me ...oh God, Violet!"

Violet had lowered herself to her knees and had taken Sherlock in her mouth.

He gasped, then gently ran his fingers through her hair. It felt odd - not like Violet's hair at all. There was extra ...bits or something.

But, he didn't want her like this. Her mouth and tongue were all over him, teasing and tantalizing...

_Oh, fuck, Violet!_

Yes, he did.

A sudden banging on the cubicle door startled them both.

"OUT! NO SEX IN THE TOILETS!"

Violet stopped what she was doing. Sherlock gasped at the external interruption and Violet's sudden withdrawal.

"Fuck off!" she yelled from her position on the floor.

Sherlock started to zip himself up, breathing hard, feeling quite self-conscious now.

"THIS IS CLUB SECURITY, MA'AM."

Violet sighed and stood up.

"Just give us a moment!"

"OUT, NOW!" More banging.

Violet pulled her dress back down again, then glanced down at Sherlock's trousers, noting that he was decent.

"You'd better fuckin' be somebody!" Violet threatened as she drew the latch back on the cubicle door.

Sherlock stepped backwards toward the toilet, so she could open the door. He wondered what on earth she meant by 'You'd better be somebody'. _He's security, Violet._

Violet stared the man down.

"Ms Hunter," the security guy said, as if talking to a wayward child. "You should know better."

"How about a car, Joel?" Violet asked facetiously, walking out of the cubicle.

'Joel' frowned. "I'll see. Gotta check with the boss first. After you, sir."

'Joel' gestured to Sherlock.

"Of course," Violet replied, taking Sherlock by the hand. "We'll wait in his office."

Joel sighed, and walked ahead of them out of the bathroom, and down the long passageway in the opposite direction to the club. He scanned his I.D. into a card reader, then pulled a door open into another shorter corridor, allowing Sherlock and Violet to go in ahead of him.

Sherlock looked quizzically at Violet. She had a determined look on her face.

They walked down this darkened corridor until they arrived at another door, which Violet opened herself. They stepped inside. The office was vacant and dark, lit only by the window opposite them. The room had a desk in the middle, and a comfortable sofa alongside one wall. The huge window on the opposite wall looked out onto the dance floor. Sherlock remembered that the window on the other side was actually a row of mirrors.

Joel hadn't followed them into the office, but had continued along the corridor.

"So, you are afforded the privilege of fucking in toilet cubicles because you're a minor celebrity?" Sherlock asked, feeling completely uncomfortable about the whole experience.

"No, they couldn't give a shit about my or anyone else's celebrity status. I'm afforded this privilege because I used to fuck Jake. He's the co-owner of this place."

Sherlock had started at the sound of Jake's name in the same sentence as the word 'fuck'. And it coming out of Violet's mouth. He thought he'd gotten over that little fact.

Obviously not.

Violet moved over to the window, to stare out onto the dance floor.

_He's here,_ she thought. _He didn't rebuff me. He chose to come. I think. Now Violet, don't confuse Sherlock wanting to fuck you (or Christa) with Sherlock loving you, especially now that he's moved on._

"I haven't fucked anybody else in the toilets, by the way," she shot back. "I haven't had sex since..." she looked away.

_Since me?_ Sherlock hoped. He was relieved to hear that, if that were the case. He walked over to Violet. Perhaps now was a good opportunity to talk - before Violet could put her hand down his trousers again or her mouth around ...

The door to the office opened. Joel spoke from the doorway, "The car's ready, ma'am. There may be papps outside, but we'll put a couple of guys to stand on the other side of the car. You'll have to be quick, though.

Sherlock thought, _Papps_?

"Thank you, Joel."

She smiled at Sherlock.

"You ready for this?"

"What?"

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Just keep close and look down."

_Oh fuck!_ thought Sherlock. _Am I going to be on the cover of a magazine?_


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **Wow! This chapter ended up being way longer than any other! I guess they had a lot to say...

Enjoy

x

* * *

**Chapter 26**

"Your place or mine?" Violet asked, as the private car sped along. "Oh, hang on," she continued before Sherlock could say anything, "It has to be my place doesn't it? Or in a car," she finished smirking.

Sherlock frowned. _Why are you acting like this,_ he thought.

"Or an alleyway," she mused.

"Violet, what are you doing? Is this what you do these days? Pick up?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I don't do casual sex. You know that. You're especially privileged because you're my ex."

Sherlock inwardly cringed at the word 'ex'.

She regarded him for a moment. _Self preservation, Violet. Don't let him hurt you._

"You wanted to get laid tonight. You scored big with a celebrity! Well done. Don't worry. I won't use your real name, or expect you to ring afterwards... In fact, you can leave straight after you _come_. How does that sound?"

Sherlock was appalled. This wasn't how he dreamt he and Violet would get back together.

"No. I..." Whatever he said would sound lame.

_Straight from the heart,_ John had advised him all those months ago. That still sounded like a load of crap to him though. Everything has to come from the brain. _So think, Sherlock!_

"That's not why I came out tonight."

Violet was confused. _If not to pick up, then what?_

"Why then? A case?" she asked. _Blondie was a crim?_

They were momentarily interrupted by the driver.

"Er, excuse me, Ms Hunter, but where are we headed?" he asked.

"Baker Street." "Gower Street." both Sherlock and Violet said together.

"Gower Street?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Of course. You knew I moved in just around the corner from you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he confessed.

"Then you'll be able to walk home afterwards," she concluded. "Gower Street please!"

Sherlock sighed, stared out of the window briefly, then took a deep breath in. He looked back at Violet, who was watching him curiously.

"You were saying?" she asked.

Sherlock reached over and took Violet's hand in his.

Violet swallowed hard. She wasn't expecting this ... tenderness.

_Just get the truth out as quickly as possible. No chance of anything being misinterpreted then_, Sherlock told himself.

"I came out tonight, as I've been coming out every Friday night, to look for you. No, don't look at me like that. The woman - she was just a distraction. No, not that kind of distraction. I mean, yes, that kind of ... but not to ... you know ... just to talk to, not to - take home. She was drunk - she misread my signals ... not that I had signals ... I was just - talking, really. Jokes and ... anecdotes."

He looked at Violet, noted the confused look on her face, then thought he ought to try again. That didn't come out as smoothly as he'd hoped it would.

"We got back together once, Violet. For about an hour or two. Then you passed out, and it was all over. Again. And I was trying to make it right. I'm trying now..."

Sherlock looked at Violet again, trying to read her thoughts.

Violet was thinking, _Dear God, please let him say something I can hold on to._

The problem is_,_ Sherlock thought, she looks too much like Christa, and not enough like his Violet. He may as well be talking to the TV set.

"Can you just smile or something?" he asked, attempting his own smile. "You look too much like a sulky teenager."

Violet laughed at this, the surprise request coming out of nowhere, and to Sherlock she looked nothing like Christa at that moment. He reached up to touch her face, then leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back, just as softly. He pulled away, but left his hand there, gently cradling her face.

"Violet Hunter, " he whispered, "what I wanted to say was...I love you."

It took a moment for Violet to register the words Sherlock had just uttered. Then her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh no," said Sherlock, wiping away one tear with his thumb, "That's not a good look."

Black eyeliner plus tears.

She laughed again, but the tears still fell. Sherlock pulled her in for a kiss again. They kissed quite tenderly and lovingly. Violet put her arms around Sherlock's neck as they kissed.

_He loves me. He came for me. For me! Not some random fuck._

Violet pulled away from him.

"I love you, too," she replied, smiling at him.

Sherlock frowned at her. "You took your time!"

Then he grinned, and kissed her on her forehead.

"Can you just do something about the ... er..." He touched his eyes.

"What? Why?"

Violet reached for her bag, and retrieved her compact from it.

"Because you look like Christa after she was told her brother had died."

"Shut up!"

Violet pulled out her makeup wipes, and proceeded to clean up the black smudges from under her eyes and cheeks and most of the eyeliner that had remained. Sherlock watched her and then smiled at her once she finished and put everything back into her bag.

His Violet.

He reached out to kiss her again. They didn't want to stop kissing. They had each other back at last. There were questions, a multitude of questions from both of them. But the answers could wait for now.

"We're here," the driver said as he pulled the car to a stop. "Doesn't look like there's anyone about."

The driver got out of the car, and walked around to the kerb to open the door for them, as Violet and Sherlock reluctantly drew apart.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to Baker Street?" Sherlock asked.

"You should come in and see where I've been living all this time," Violet replied, cheerfully.

Sherlock's curiosity won, although he had been along this street quite often, looking up at the building wondering which floor Violet was occupying. They quickly exited the car, and hurried up the walk to Violet's front door.

"We have to be quiet," she said. "Alice has got an early call tomorrow."

"Alice?" whispered Sherlock as they entered the flat.

"My flatmate. Remember the show we went to?"

"Oh, she's the other woman who slapped me at your after party."

Violet smiled and raised one eyebrow. "If you say so!"

Violet closed the door gently behind them.

"Upstairs," she whispered, grabbing Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock pulled her back for a moment.

"This is a bit presumptuous," he whispered. "Aren't you going to offer me a coffee first?"

Violet placed her arms around Sherlock's neck and whispered in his ear, "No, first I'm going to finish what I started in the toilet cubicle, then you can do me in the shower. And then, if you're lucky, I'll offer you a coffee."

It didn't go as Violet had promised. They'd barely made it through Violet's bedroom door as they wasted no time peeling each other's clothes off, while still trying to kiss. Clothes were shed, the bed was sought, then came the awkward moment when they had to decide on protection. The conversation, in between kissing and groping went like this:

Violet: Did you?  
Sherlock: Yes. John.  
Violet: Okay?  
Sherlock: Yes, you?  
Violet: Yes. John.

Roughly translated, that meant: Violet's phone had notified her a few weeks ago when three months had passed since their first HIV blood tests, indicating they were due for another lot of tests. Violet asked John to take her blood sample, in between the shedding of tears of course, and had also asked him to remind Sherlock, which John had done, reluctantly. Sherlock sulked for a few days, then ended up relenting and asked John to take his sample. Both had tested negative.

So this night they dispensed with the frantic condom search of the past, and used all their energy into just making love. And John never need know they had uttered his name in the middle of their foreplay.

When Violet awoke the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty.

_Did he really leave and walk home? _she thought.

Then she heard voices floating up the stairwell.

"And I'll have your balls if you hurt her again!"

Alice.

The sound of the front door closing as Alice left, Violet surmised, and footsteps on the stairs - Sherlock, she hoped.

_Quick pretend to be peacefully asleep._

The door creaked open.

He chuckled. "You can't trick me. I know a sleeping body when I see one."

Violet turned over. Sherlock was carrying two coffee mugs.

"Here," he said holding out a mug to her. "Alice showed me how to use the coffee machine, in between abusing me about breaking up with you. And I also fixed your thingummy."

"Kettle?"

"No."

"Hot water system?"

He frowned. "No?"

"Dishwasher?"

"No. Are all those things not working?"

"Yep. Looks like you've got a busy day ahead of you then!" Violet remarked, grinning.

Sherlock smirked. He put his coffee down on the bedside table. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, then unzipped his trousers, beginning to feel self conscious as he became aware of Violet watching him with a hungry glint in her eyes.

"What?"

Violet said thoughtfully, "I was just thinking you were wearing far too many clothes."

"I thought about going downstairs naked, but I didn't want to alarm your flat mate. And in hindsight, that was a wise decision," Sherlock added, images of what Alice had threatened to do to his boys entered his mind.

"Don't worry, she's gay," Violet remarked.

"Is everybody around you gay?" Sherlock asked, sliding back into bed next to Violet.

He lay down, as Violet propped herself up on one elbow and used her free hand to gently caress Sherlock's chest.

"What do you mean, everybody?" she asked, gently kissing Sherlock's chest, and making her way down to his torso.

"You know - the mechanic, and that Granny-slapper, Caity."

Violet laughed and looked back up at Sherlock.

"Matt is. Chenoa isn't."

Violet kissed Sherlock's navel, then drifted lower.

"Why was she having..ah!" he temporarily forgot was he was talking about. "Violet. Violet! I'm talking here...why was she simulating sex with you on the dance floor then?"

"Did you like that?" Violet whispered, caressing the outside of his underwear.

Sherlock breathed out, "Yes."

Violet was just about to reach into Sherlock's boxers when he whispered, "Violet?"

"Yes?"

Sherlock reached for her, to bring her back up to face him.

He regarded her for a moment, cradling her face in his hands.

"I love you," he said, looking into her eyes.

"I love you, too." She kissed him, then said, "You keep saying that. You said it about four times last night."

"I just want to make sure you know it," he replied looking wounded.

"I know it," she smiled. "Now I do, anyway. And I'm not drunk, so you don't have to worry about me forgetting."

"So why weren't you drinking last night? Or any night. I could see you weren't drunk in that magazine article. They said you were all partying hard, and cruising the clubs."

"Guilty by association. I pretend to drink. You know I can't have alcohol. My willpower is so fucking amazing these days."

Violet lay down next to Sherlock. He rolled onto his side, and kissed her neck.

"Now what were you saying about having sex with your female co-stars on the dance floor?" he whispered.

"Oh, we're back to that," she sighed. "Why am I thinking it's less about the story, and more about getting you turned on right now?"

He leant up on his elbows.

"I'm interested. Why did you do that?" he asked, with a more serious face.

"It's free publicity for the show. The public is curious about the actors who play the characters, but they really want to see the characters in real life anyway, well, being a bit naughtier. One spills over into the other."

"Yes, but your two characters don't make out. The show's on at 6pm, they wouldn't allow sexy romps on the dance floor."

"Sexy romps..." Violet laughed.

"That wasn't meant to be funny."

"Sexy romps," Violet repeated quietly. She smiled, and caressed Sherlock's face. Then her own face grew pensive. She was enjoying this... being back with him; having their conversations in bed; cuddling in between. They had lost so much time. Violet took a deep breath in. So much had happened. Their relationship had been utterly decimated with outside forces and their own inability to communicate both to blame. Now that they were here, back together again, nothing like that should ever threaten them again. Should it?

But Violet was scared.

"I love you, Sherlock," she said, feeling teary again, remembering the last time she had said it first.

Sherlock also remembered what had happened the last time she said that - the first time he had heard her say it - the first time either of them had said it; and how he reacted with hatred and vitriol.

"I love you, too," he replied, then he kissed her. He wanted to make that moment meaningful, for her. She needed that. Sherlock realised that that should've been such a pivotal moment in their relationship, and he had created an ugly memory out of it. He stopped kissing her for a moment. "I'm sorry, Violet. What I did back then was cruel and unforgivable."

Sherlock's eyes stung, and Violet reached for him.

Sherlock pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

He paused, trying to regain his composure. He turned his head so that he could kiss her neck and she wouldn't see him floundering like this. He stopped and rested his head on her shoulder, to take a few deep breaths. Sherlock looked up again, and met Violet's gaze, his eyes still glassy.

"I love you so much," he whispered, unable to control the tremor in his voice. "I'll never do anything to hurt you again. I promise."

He leant in and kissed her softly. Violet held his face in her hands, her heart feeling full.

"Just don't ever leave me," she pleaded, studying his face.

Sherlock tried to imagine a life without Violet. These last three months he felt he had existed as half a man. Cases came and went, but his enthusiasm for the work was false. His zest for life was almost non-existent. Leave Violet? Never.

"I won't," he replied, staring at her intensely. "Don't ever leave me."

"I won't."

They kissed again, more passionately than before, as if their very existence depended on it.

Their coffees went cold.

* * *

"Your phone keeps buzzing," Sherlock murmured into Violet's hair, his eyes still closed. Sherlock had his arms wrapped around her. He wanted to stay this way for the rest of the day, for the rest of his life, if that were possible. She was facing away from him - not really sleeping, just feeling completely content to lie in his arms.

"I'm just so popular," she whispered back.

Then Sherlock's phoned buzzed from his jacket pocket. His jacket hung on the back of a chair in one corner of Violet's room, along with his new coat.

Violet sighed.

"I should check mine. Maybe they've decided to kill Christa off in childbirth anyway, and I'll have to re-shoot."

Violet got up and stretched, then walked over to her dresser to grab her phone.

"Could you get mine while you're up?"

Sherlock lay back, and put his arms behind his head, enjoying the view: Violet walking naked around the room. She retrieved his phone, which immediately began to ring as she held it.

"John," she read off the screen, handing the phone to Sherlock and smiling. Violet was in two minds about whether to answer Sherlock's phone or not and surprise John.

Sherlock frowned then spoke into the phone, "John."

"Ah, Sherlock," came John's voice. He sounded a bit on edge. "I'm, er, coming over. I've got something to tell you."

"You're having a baby?" Sherlock surmised.

Violet looked over in interest as she sat back onto the bed next to him.

"What? No... I've just read something... look, I'm coming over. I want to tell you in person."

"No, I won't be home... when you get here. Tell me now. What's all this in person rubbish? Will you be performing a mime?"

Sherlock could hear John sigh.

"Look, Sherlock," John's nervousness carried through the receiver, "It's a bit of bad news. I just... don't want you to take it to heart."

To heart!

"Don't worry, John. I've been reliably informed I don't have one."

Violet looked at Sherlock quizzically, only being able to hear his side of the conversation.

"Well, we both know that's not true," came John's reply.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed Violet's neck some more.

"Sherlock?" John's voice interrupted.

"Yes. Still here, waiting for your bad news, John."

Violet turned to him, and raised her eyebrows. Sherlock shrugged.

"Okay, then," came John's voice, "I, ah, just read on my..." he cleared his throat, "online news subscription, a bit of entertainment gossip. From last night."

"Yes?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at Violet.

"What?" she mouthed.

"It's about Violet," John said.

"What about Violet?" Sherlock replied, his voice getting softer.

Violet smiled, then snuggled in to lie on Sherlock's chest. He put his arm around her.

"She... was at a club, you know that one they all go to..."

"Yes, John."

"And, ah, she was spotted snogging some guy."

"Really."

"Uh, yeah, just some random guy."

"Random?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean - random?"

Violet turned around and rested her chin on Sherlock's chest and looked up at him, wondering what on earth this conversation was about.

"Um...it means she just picked him out of ... well, look, according to witnesses, this guy was sitting with his girlfriend and Violet was making eyes at him from the dance floor. Then she just walked over to him, started kissing him, and the next thing you know she's leading him over to the, ah, loos, to, ah..."

"Have sex," finished Sherlock.

Violet frowned at Sherlock, understanding the gist of the conversation.

"Ah, probably, maybe. Look, I don't know. It doesn't say."

"Okay, thank you, John," Sherlock finished, sounding quite business-like.

"Sherlock... are you okay?"

Sherlock had a sudden thought.

"Were there any photos, John?"

Violet sat up.

"Ah, not on this site. I haven't done a search yet. It was in a club. People takes pictures on their phones all the time. Maybe someone tweeted it."

"Okay, John, thank you. You've been most helpful."

"Sherlock?" came John's concerned voice just as Sherlock ended the call.

"What?" asked Violet.

"Am I going to be on the internet?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh," answered Violet, "I have a few messages from the show's publicist... so this may or may not be good."

Violet was cycling through all her messages.

Sherlock started tapping away at his phone.

"Here's one."

Sherlock showed Violet his screen. On it was a picture of Matt, Violet and Chenoa on the dance floor.

Sherlock scrolled through some more photos. All of them were old news, a couple more showed the trio from other angles. Then there was just one: only the back of Violet, snogging some random guy - Sherlock - who you couldn't see, except for his arms around her. He showed this one to Violet. She frowned.

Sherlock couldn't find any others. None of Violet leading him through the club to the toilets, blowing him in the cubicle, or any of them leaving the club through the back door to the waiting car.

_Good_.

Violet was on the phone talking to the publicist. She ended the call.

"She just said to behave, blah blah blah, but she's secretly pleased that boring old Violet Hunter has done something a bit naughty for a change. Dammit! Now I'll be stuck on this show forever!"

"Don't you like it?" Sherlock asked, putting his phone down on the bedside table.

"It was okay for a little while. Now I want to do something more challenging. I don't want to be typecast as a sullen teenager. Did you find any more photos?"

"No. It was probably too dark to get any decent pictures there."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then he ventured, "Violet... why did you... do what you did... in the club?"

"What?"

"Why did you pick me up?"

Violet felt a bit uncomfortable.

"I...I don't know. It was a spur of the moment decision. I just... saw you with that blonde and..."

"Were you jealous?" Sherlock was slightly aroused at this.

"Yes."

Sherlock grinned at Violet, then kissed her on the cheek. Violet feigned annoyance.

Sherlock sat up, then looked for his boxers over the side of the bed. He leant over and picked them up off the floor, then swung his legs off the bed. He stepped into his underwear, and then walked over to his coat.

Violet frowned, thinking. She asked, "Why didn't you tell John that you were the random guy?"

Sherlock shrugged, then added, "This is more fun!" he grinned.

He searched his coat pockets until he found was he was looking for - his cigarettes and lighter. Then he glanced around the room, looking for a suitable ashtray.

Violet hadn't noticed what he was doing as she scolded him, "If there is anyone in our lives who should know about us, Sherlock, it's John! He put in so much work on your behalf these last few months. I don't think you have any idea!"

Sherlock strode over to the dresser, eyeing an empty tumbler.

"I think I have some idea," he replied, pre-occupied.

"No you don't," Violet argued, getting up from the bed to look for her own dressing gown. She continued, "I went from hating you, and thinking you were some freaky stalker pervert..."

Sherlock was taken aback at those words, and stopped to stare at Violet.

"...to.." Violet stopped, trying to compose herself.

"To what?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

"...to loving you again. Obsessing over you, really," she finished, and trying not to cry.

"Obsessing?" Sherlock found this interesting. He had eventually recognised his own behaviour toward Violet/Christa as bordering on a tad obsessive, only getting relief when an interesting case would come in.

Violet smiled shyly as she wrapped her dressing gown around her. "I kept reading all about the crimes in the papers, hoping for some brutal murder or serial killing, or an unsolved kidnapping or...I don't know. I even went to a crime scene one day, hoping you'd be there."

"Which one?" Sherlock asked, smirking, and pulling a cigarette out of the pack, then putting it to his lips.

"What are you doing!?" Violet asked, her eyes widening in astonishment.

"I'm..." Sherlock held out his hands, one of them holding a lighter, the other the packet. And with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he spoke, finishing his sentence seemed unnecessary.

"Since when?" Violet made her way over to him and was about to pluck the cigarette out, when Sherlock took it out and held it up out of her reach.

"Since you broke my heart," he replied smirking.

"Well... you can't ... now," was all Violet managed to argue.

"This is my last one," Sherlock stated, lighting up, and ignoring Violet's glare.

"Over there. Open the window," she ordered, pointing.

Sherlock moved to the window with his supplies and the glass tumbler and opened it a little. Violet shivered, and climbed back into her bed, pulling her quilt up to her neck.

"Aren't you cold?" she observed Sherlock standing at the window, exhaling cigarette smoke through the gap in the window, clad only in his boxers.

"Yep."

He looked back at Violet, all rugged up and he grinned. He then walked back over to the chair, put his cigarette in his mouth while he pulled on his coat. Violet eyed the coat with interest as Sherlock made his way back to the window.

"That's a good look," she remarked, smiling at him. Coat, boxers, bare chest, cigarette.

Violet reached over for her phone, launched the camera app, then snapped a picture of Sherlock as he gazed out of the window. He turned to look at her when he heard the sound of the virtual shutter.

"What are you doing?"

"Memento."

He frowned, then resumed smoking.

"Where did you get the coat from?" Really she wanted to know _Why did you get the coat_, and _Why were you wearing it last night?_

"It was a gift from my brother," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, taking another drag on his cigarette.

"Your brother."

"Yes," he replied condescendingly, exhaling through the window.

"Your brother, Mycroft."

"I only have one brother." Sherlock turned around to look at Violet.

Violet considered this information for a moment. _Obviously Sherlock and his family live in la-la-land: a land where keeping a file on your brother's girlfriend was considered fairly run-of-the-mill._

"Why?"

"It was a Christmas present."

Violet sighed.

Did she need to say it? Did she really need to remind Sherlock about everything that had happened to them and that the one person responsible for their misery had bought Sherlock a FUCKIN' COAT FOR CHRISTMAS! AND HE WAS HAPPILY WEARING IT!

Clearly she was seething only internally, for Sherlock said, rather calmly in contrast to Violet's just about to erupt into something resembling a volcano manner, "It was his punishment for causing us to break up."

"What?!"

"He had to buy me a gift for Christmas as punishment. We don't normally exchange gifts," Sherlock added by way of explanation.

"Punishment," repeated Violet, still wondering if they were communicating on the same plane.

"Yes, I told our mother what Mycroft had done. As far as Mycroft's concerned, that's a punishment worse than death. She made him buy me a present. Obviously he thought a new coat would be a bit of a joke."

Violet blinked, then rubbed her eye. She was either going to cry, or laugh hysterically.

"You... told.. on Mycroft... to your mum?"

"Yes," Sherlock turned back to the window and continued smoking.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Violet said in a small voice. She got up quickly and hastened to the bathroom, which was at the other end of the hallway.

Sherlock drew the coat tighter around him in response to the cool breeze coming in through the window. He smiled to himself. He was back with Violet again. Now if only he could convince her to move back into Baker Street. He had offered to pay Mrs Hudson the rent for the upstairs bedsit, as he didn't want anyone else moving in there. Surely Violet wouldn't want to continue flat sharing with Alice. The woman was a maniac.

Violet came back, wiping away tears. Sherlock didn't notice, luckily, for they were the tears of laughter Violet had been madly trying to contain as she had stood there listening to _A Very Holmesian Christmas._

She walked up to him by the window and hugged him.

"It's a nice coat," she commented, smiling up at him. What she actually meant by the hug and the comment was: _I'll accept your story about your bizarre family politics._

"Do you think so?"

She nodded.

"That's why I wore it out. It seemed to suit the club scene better," he added.

"That's lovely," Violet remarked. She then held out her hand to Sherlock's cigarette. "May I?"

Sherlock looked puzzled. "You don't smoke."

"Just this once," she replied, taking it off him. She took a fairly long drag, drew it into her lungs, then coughed, bending over and holding out the offending cigarette for Sherlock to take off her.

"Why did you do that?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Because I want to kiss you."

Sherlock smiled, then stubbed out his cigarette into the glass tumbler he had placed on the windowsill. He pulled Violet in for a kiss, tangling his hands in his hair. Violet slipped her arms around Sherlock inside his coat, running her hands down the smooth skin of his back as they kissed.

Sherlock ended their session abruptly.

"What the fuck happened to your hair?"

Violet looked offended.

"Don't you like it?"

"Ah, no."

"Well, it's dyed, obviously, and I've got extensions in."

"Extensions?"

"Hair extensions. Fake hair. Well, it's real hair, just not mine."

"You've got someone else's hair attached to your head?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it from? The morgue?"

"My God, Sherlock, no!" Violet stepped out of their embrace.

"Where from then?"

"The hair salon has them. They get them from companies that use... donors, and..."

"Corpses?"

"No!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you know? This," he held up one strand of hair, "could be from one of those passengers off flight 80 from New Delhi, and this," he held up another strand, "from a young girl waiting to cross the street in Beirut, when suddenly..."

"Stop it!" Violet yanked her hair out of Sherlock's hand.

He grinned mischievously at her.

"I'm going to make breakfast, then I'm going for a jog, during which time you may leave."

"What? Why?"

Sherlock was trying to judge whether Violet was serious or not.

"Because Alice texted me after she left this morning to say there's a paparazzo across the road. If I go for a jog, then he'll follow me, and you can leave. Unless you want to be photographed leaving, wearing last night's clothes?"

Violet busied herself getting dressed.

Sherlock remained standing by the window, sulking.

Did all the fun and games have to end now?

"Why can't I stay?"

"That would be lovely, but you have to leave some time. Do you have a case at the moment?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"Just a missing husband. Probably Alzheimer's or something," he replied sullenly.

"I can sneak over to Baker Street later."

"Can you?"

Suddenly the day seemed brighter again.

"Sure, just via the shops I guess. I don't usually get followed. I'm not interesting enough, apart from what happened last night. I guess they just want to see if they can get a shot of the guy."

"The random guy."

"Yeah, that's you." She walked back over to him and kissed him. "My random guy. Come on!"

She left him, and went downstairs, leaving Sherlock to get dressed and gather up his things.

_Having to sneak in and out of each other's flats. Just what kind of relationship had they come back to?_ thought Sherlock.

* * *

**Author's musings**: Is anyone familiar with Gower Street? My little joke.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **For those who didn't do their research - North Gower Street doubles as Baker Street in the external shots for the TV series.

You're welcome.

x

* * *

**Chapter 27**

Sherlock was pacing. His living room carpet as always took a beating as his treads threatened to wear it thin. He'd sorted through mail, checked email, boiled the kettle several times without actually making tea and then eventually sat down in his armchair, drumming his fingers agitatedly on the armrest.

_Where is she?_

Did he dream up the last twelve hours? Being back in Baker Street among all his things, his rooms and the air of a very absent Violet, he could easily have convinced himself it was only his imagination - the club, the toilet cubicle, the car journey home, this morning. He had made the mistake of coming home, after a brisk walk two blocks from Gower Street to here, showering and putting on fresh clothes. Now he couldn't even smell Violet on him.

They had parted three hours ago.

He hoped she was all right. She had left her place power-walking at first, to give the paparazzo time to snap a couple of photos, stow his camera, and mount his bicycle to take off after her.

Sherlock's heart skipped and he stood up quickly at the sound of the front door slamming shut. Had Mrs Hudson let Violet keep her front door keys, the same privilege she had afforded John? The heavy footfalls on the staircase told Sherlock it was the good doctor, and not his lover who was about to grace him with their presence.

"John," he stated, sinking back into his armchair.

John strode in, beaming, holding out a photo he'd printed from the internet. He handed it to Sherlock, exclaiming, "It's you, isn't it?"

Sherlock took one glance at it, and gave it back to John.

"Obviously."

John sat down in his chair opposite Sherlock.

"Mary noticed. She said 'They're Sherlock's hands!'"

"Nice observation," Sherlock replied. He rested his elbow up on the armrest, holding his hand up, tapping his index and middle fingers alternately against his thumb in an air of irritation.

"So she's," John twisted around in his chair to glance back towards Sherlock's bedroom, "... She's not here then?"

"No, I don't know where she is."

"Oh," John replied, his once bright demeanor becoming more subdued as he took in Sherlock's current mood. "It wasn't a reconciliation type of ... ah ... meeting then?"

Sherlock stopped his tapping and frowned at John.

"Of course it was."

"So you're back together then?" John asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly - hopefully.

"Yes."

"Good. Great. Fine. I'm very happy for you both." John tried to smile, although Sherlock continued to frown at him.

"And you're ... waiting for her?"

"Yes, John."

"Were you at her place this morning?" John's voice took on a more inquiring tone.

"Yes."

"When I rang?"

"Yes."

"Didn't occur to you to let me know that fact?"

"It was Violet's idea. She wanted to surprise you," Sherlock quickly lied and waved his hand dismissively.

"You're bloody hopeless - the pair of you," John replied, in mock irritation. "So what's she up to then?"

Sherlock stood up and began pacing again, running his hands through his hair, "I don't know. She left to go for a jog so the photographer would follow her, allowing me to leave her flat discreetly."

"Photographer?" repeated John in mild amusement, "As in paparazzi?"

Sherlock ignored the question. "It's been..." he glanced at his watch, "...just over three hours now. She muttered something about going to the shops."

"Shopping? Well she may be another hour yet. Hasn't she texted you or anything?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

"My phone!" he exclaimed, patting his pockets and spinning around. "Where's my phone?"

"Do you want me to ring it?" John volunteered as Sherlock strode through the kitchen and into his bedroom.

"Nope. In my jacket," he called back.

Sherlock returned with the phone. He had three messages from Violet. He tutted as he opened them.

VIOLET: [ Miss you! x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Going shopping with Alice. Will see you in an hour. Or two. x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ ? ]

"Dammit..." Sherlock muttered, typing a reply.

SHERLOCK: [ Good. SH ]

"She on her way then?" John asked.

"It would appear so," Sherlock replied, brightening a little. Then he grinned when he received the next message from Violet.

VIOLET: [ Who is this? ]

There was the sound of the front door clicking shut, and hurried, light footsteps on the stairs. John stood up, in expectation.

"John!" Violet exclaimed, see him first upon her arrival into Sherlock's living room.

Violet dropped the backpack she was carrying in order to hug him. Sherlock stood awkwardly on the edge of the living room taking in the vision of Violet. Violet made real, not a dream, and in his flat at last.

Sherlock hadn't had the privilege of witnessing the friendship that had developed between Violet and John over the last three months - the friendship that was based on their common desire for a reconciliation between Violet and Sherlock. And a friendship that was based in part on John's guilt over their break up in the first place.

John and Violet smiled at each other, exchanging a look.

Violet turned around and suppressed a desire to sprint into Sherlock's arms. Not that his arms were waiting for her - his hands were nonchalently placed in his pockets and his face was unemotional. Inside though, he felt nervous but craved the physicality of their relationship, unsure how to make that happen in John's presence. Violet altered her expression to match his, taking on a look of mock disapproval.

"And why didn't you answer my texts?" she asked, wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck.

Her warmth as she pressed herself against him sent a surge of restless sexual energy throughout Sherlock's body.

"I lost my phone," he replied, bringing his face toward hers, and embracing her in return.

They gazed into each other's eyes, entranced, faces only inches apart.

Presently, John cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

"I'll ...just..." he stammered.

Violet unwrapped herself from Sherlock and walked back to John, smiling shyly.

"Thank you, John," she whispered, hugging him again.

"For what?"

"You know," Violet replied, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled back at her, feeling his job was done. It was the end of a long and emotional endeavor. Two of his favourite people in the world would be happy at last.

He made to leave, gesturing toward the picture he had left on the small table beside his old armchair.

"We worked it out, you know."

"You mean Mary worked it out," Sherlock corrected him.

"Yes, well, just..." John stared meaningfully at Sherlock, "...try not to fuck it up again."

Sherlock looked wounded, but John ignored him.

"Violet," he said affectionately. He kissed her on the cheek, grinned stupidly at her again, then hurried downstairs.

Violet turned to Sherlock, and noticing his melancholy expression, she quickly moved over to embrace him once again.

"I won't, you know that don't you?" His voice almost choked with emotion. He wanted her to know how seriously he took their relationship now, and how offensive he found the notion of him somehow being responsible for them ever breaking up again.

Violet caressed his face, and slowly nodded. His expression, she noticed, previously cold when John was in the room, now brimmed with emotion. Sherlock bent his head, and kissed her gently at first, then they parted their lips and their kiss developed into something more desirous and urgent. The steps needed to get from standing fully clothed in Sherlock's living room to having their naked bodies entwined in his bed seemed far too numerous.

And then Sherlock's phone rang before they had even contemplated the first step.

"Mmm, you should get that," Violet murmured in Sherlock's ear as his lips and tongue glided over her neck and down to her shoulder.

"Should," he breathed, pressing Violet tighter against him, his arousal becoming all too obvious to her. "Or we could..."

Sherlock started backing Violet slowly toward the kitchen as they kissed. The phone in his trouser pocket kept ringing. Their path was abruptly halted by the presence of the kitchen table.

Sherlock had to have her now. His whole body was electrified by her presence, her touch, her taste. Fuck the phone and whoever was calling.

Sherlock had worked Violet's skirt up to her waist, and was now trying to ease her knickers down with his thumbs. Violet helped him the rest of the way. Her whole body tingled with lustful desire. She wanted him right now, inside her. The bedroom seemed so far away...

Sherlock slid Violet onto the table so she was sitting on it and straddling him. She was unzipping him, her own urges reaching a fervent height as he continued kissing her along her neck and caressing her back under her shirt. The silence brought by the phone ceasing its ringing was abruptly broken by a glass beaker crashing to the floor.

"Um.." Violet ventured, concerned for the chemistry equipment.

"Shhh," Sherlock finished, and they resumed their feverish kissing. Sherlock let his trousers drop to the floor, his boxers already straining, hardly containing his erection. His phone started ringing from his trousers again, which were around his ankles. He stepped out of them and with a swift kick, slid them to the door to the landing.

"Somebody..." was all Violet was able to gasp as Sherlock suddenly thrust into her. Violet wrapped her legs around Sherlock as he drove deeper.

"Oh my God...Sher-lock!"

Violet slid backwards a little causing an assortment of equipment to clatter about her.

"Sher-lock," she breathed into his ear, and she grasped his hips, helping him to continue to rock into her. The steady rhythm of their quick, shallow breathing was all they could hear as the phone stopped ringing as abruptly as it had started.

"Violet," Sherlock whispered, bending her back slightly.

Violet suddenly slipped back and moved one arm behind her to steady herself, smashing it on a rack of empty test tubes, causing them to tip and shatter, slicing her forearm.

"Ow! Fuck!" she cried out in pain.

Sherlock froze, taking in the image of Violet's bloody arm.

"Oh, fuck, Violet!" he exclaimed, withdrawing and hastily pulling his boxers up which had been sitting inelegantly on his hips.

He reached over and gently pulled Violet's arm toward him and held it up, inspecting it quickly for broken glass. It seemed clean.

"Here, hold it like this," he said softly.

Sherlock carefully placed Violet's other hand over the wound, which fortunately wasn't gushing with blood. He then swiftly moved over to the kitchen cabinets, and opened the one under the sink, retrieving a first aid kit from it.

Sherlock took out a length of dressing, which he hastily wrapped around Violet's forearm.

"Hold it," he instructed.

"Ow, ow!" Violet sucked in her breath.

"Here, hop down," Sherlock said, holding Violet around her waist, and lowering her to the floor. He bent over and adjusted her skirt so that it was no longer pushed up around her waist.

"Just sit," he said, still speaking gently.

He pulled a dining chair out on the side of the table nearest the door to the landing and Violet sat down.

"Elevate it."

Sherlock then allowed himself to breathe.

He looked at the bandage around Violet's arm, observing that blood wasn't seeping through.

"Just a minor laceration I think," he stated. "How are you feeling?"

Violet grimaced. "Hurts like a mother-fucker."

Sherlock smiled a little. "Ah, the streets of Manchester."

"What?" Violet asked, smiling weakly.

"Your rather expansive vocabulary. I hardly think it came from your extensive collection of literary works."

He bent over and kissed her on the forehead as his phone began to ring again.

"Please answer it," Violet requested in a small voice.

Sherlock stalked over to the door and stooped down to pull his phone out of the pocket of his trousers.

"Yes?" he answered sharply.

He listened for a while, walking into the living room and back again, wearing only his shirt and boxers.

"No, don't send a car. I'll grab a cab. Text me the address."

He ended the call, then came back over to Violet to inspect the dressing again. He knelt down beside her chair.

"Case?" Violet inquired.

"Mm," Sherlock responded. "We need to hold this on for at least 15 minutes, then I'll clean it and redress."

"You could probably have been a doctor," Violet mused.

Sherlock scoffed.

"Didn't you ever think about that?"

"Uh, no."

"Why not? You have the right... what's that word - aptitude?"

"Seems boring and repetitive."

"Different medical cases?"

"No, the endless colds and flus, pus-filled sores, ulcers and rashes. And tears."

"Well, you have a lovely bed-side manner."

Sherlock smiled, stood up and kissed Violet again.

"Do you need to go?" she asked.

"Eventually. I'll stay here with you for a bit though."

"No, I'll be fine. You should go. I'll wait here for you. I brought my things so I can sleepover."

"Sleepover?" He smirked, looking up at her.

"Yes."

"Are we ten years old?"

"I don't know. Do ten year olds fuck each other?"

Sherlock sighed and stood up. _That language again. The statements that were intended to shock._

"Just how long did you spend living on the streets of Manchester?"

Violet thought for a moment. "A year on the actual streets. Longer in the lovely city."

"And that was when you were a heroin addict?"

Violet wasn't sure how they got from having sex on the kitchen table, to first aid then to her heroin addiction. You'd think she was used to the seemingly random leaps of thought Sherlock's brain made from time to time.

"Yes."

Sherlock started pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, looking slightly odd - his usual business-like inquisitive manner conducted wearing only a shirt and underwear.

"And how did you stop? Get off heroin, I mean?"

"Jake helped me."

Simple answers to direct questions. She felt she were under oath now.

"And that's when you began your relationship with him." It was more a statement than a question.

"More or less."

"'More or less' is an imprecise answer."

"Sorry, Your Honour," Violet answered facetiously.

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at her.

"Sorry," he said quietly, transforming back from the interrogator to the half-dressed concerned boyfriend. "I just ... think of something and then I require as much information as possible."

"I know," she replied. "Just give me time to breathe sometimes. I don't mind answering your questions, but I'd like to tell you about it in my own way."

"Of course. I'm sorry," he apologised, moving back over to her and kissing her on the forehead again. "I'll just clean this up. You keep holding the bandage, before I dress it properly."

Sherlock took out a dustpan from underneath the kitchen sink and began sweeping up the remains of the beaker on the floor. Then he set about discarding the broken test tubes.

"You've replaced all these - from... before," Violet remarked.

"Yes," he answered, "I had to. The whole lot."

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing to look at Violet.

"Why should you be sorry? It was my fuck up. My irrational response to... something that was wholly untrue."

"I want to be sorry for something. I feel as though I should have done something more to get us back together again. Three months is a long time."

Sherlock walked back over to Violet, and knelt down in front of her.

"You did. Through John. John told me you were asking about me. And he kept inviting me over for dinner. I just..."

He stood up again, feeling slightly awkward.

"I just thought you belonged there," he waved vaguely in the direction of his television set behind him. "What did John say: 40 countries, over 17 million viewers in Britain alone. You seemed to belong to all of them."

He smiled weakly.

Violet stood up and made her way over to him.

"It's my job. It doesn't make me inaccessible, not to you - especially not to you."

She smiled at him then added, "I've always belonged to you."

Sherlock regarded Violet's words for a moment, and then beamed. He bent down and kissed her. While awkwardly holding her forearm, Violet returned his kiss. Sherlock secured Violet in his embrace, then couldn't resist, kissing her neck again, and pressing his hips into hers.

"You should go," Violet whispered.

"I can't go like this."

He indicated his underwear.

"In boxers? No, so put your trousers back on."

"No. Like this."

He indicated his groin.

"Oh," Violet laughed. "Bathroom's a handy place."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"Girlfriend's handy too."

"Not really." Violet wiggled the fingers on her injured arm.

"Well, I don't need that hand anyway."

"I'm sure it'll go away once you get in the taxi."

"But if it doesn't, I don't want to get to a crime scene like this. Sergeant Donovan has reservations enough about me already."

"Well I need to go lie down - keep this elevated you know and above my heart."

Violet turned away from him and made her way to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Let me know what you decide to do," she called back. "By the way, I'm not wearing any knickers."

What else could Sherlock do, but to follow her. She was already on his bed by the time he entered his room.

* * *

"You think it's definitely a hit?" D.I. Lestrade asked Sherlock for the second time that evening. They were standing outside an abandoned storage facility, where a body of a man lay, surrounded by Scotland Yard's forensics team.

"We've seen this before, Lestrade," Sherlock spoke in a low voice, leaning in close to the D.I. "Remember Manchester?"

"Right. We'll need you at the station. We have some things to discuss."

Sherlock tutted. This wasn't a case he was sure he wanted to be working on.

* * *

Violet stirred out of her groggy sleep, having been kissed by a handsome prince.

Sherlock.

"Mmmm, what time is it?" she asked, sleepily.

"It's just after 2. Go back to sleep. I have some work to do. I just wanted to let you know I'm home," he replied, talking in a low, soothing voice.

Violet closed her eyes, content that he was here again. She almost fell back asleep, but the small spark in her brain that registered that Sherlock was home, turned into a flame, and she was wide awake again.

And there was something off about his kiss.

Oh.

Cigarette smoke.

She lay in his bed for a while, turning that little snippet of evidence over in her mind. She stretched, yawned, then stumbled out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown.

Violet made her way through the kitchen to the living room, where she found Sherlock sitting on the couch with a whole bunch of papers spread out before him on the coffee table.

Ashtray, cigarette butts, smoke coiling through the air from the freshly lit cigarette pinched between Sherlock's lips.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said, without looking up or removing the cigarette.

Violet turned back to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"I'll just make you tea. I won't interrupt," Violet said quietly, getting the tea things down from the shelf.

Should she address the smoking? Is it any of her business?

Sherlock removed his cigarette, exhaling, and placed it on the edge of the ashtray. He spoke softly, "No, it's all right. Come over here. It'll help me to think if I explain it to you out loud."

Violet walked over to Sherlock, yawning again. She sat next to him on the couch, and he kissed the top of her head.

"I didn't know you even had an ashtray," Violet remarked.

"It's from Buckingham Palace," Sherlock stated.

"Why are you smoking again?" she couldn't help herself.

"It's a stimulant. Helps me to think," he stated, picking up the cigarette from the ashtray again, and taking a drag.

"So is cocaine," she suggested, sleepily.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he turned to her.

"What?" she asked innocently, taking in his expression.

"How did you know? Did John tell you about me?" he asked irritably.

Violet looked horrified.

"You did coke?"

Sherlock sighed. So John _didn't_ tell her.

"My mind... it rebels at stagnation..." he began.

"I know... so?"

"Give me problems to solve - cases and I'm in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense with artificial stimulants. Years ago, to overcome the dull routine of existence, I found cocaine to be transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind. I only used it when I was bored."

Violet thought, _I've never heard a coke-head speak so eloquently about the subject._ Then she asked, "What did John think?"

"Oh this was before Baker Street. Before John."

"Why did you stop?"

"The work. I couldn't live without brain-work. But being a consulting detective has provided me with enough mental exaltation..."

"But sometimes you don't have any cases."

"Well, there was John, and now... you."

"Meaning?" Violet was beginning to feel uncomfortable. What would it take for Sherlock to start using again?

"There is a certain stimulation being in the company of others," he answered simply.

Violet regarded him for a moment. He was still a man of mystery to her. She'd have to think about that again later, when she wasn't so sleepy. She turned to survey the papers on the coffee table.

"What's all this then?" she asked, still feeling drowsy.

"Ronald Adair. Shot in the face. Apparently they do that to prevent an open casket at the funeral. Scotland Yard think it's somehow related to another similar murder a month ago. I think it's also related to a string of hits in Manchester, last year, and the year before last. Gang warfare. Police suspect this man is somehow behind them all..."

Sherlock pulled a piece of paper out from under a pile, showing a photo and brief bio of a man in his mid-30s.

"... Sebastian Moran," he finished. "He's known as the enforcer - a very dangerous and very violent man. He's spent in total 11 years behind bars for various offenses. Basically he's a moron - being caught so many times. He's a thug, but since these spate of hits, he's never been pinned due to witness intimidation and jury tampering. I don't think he's clever enough to organise that side of things. I suspect a more intelligent figure is pulling the strings."

Violet squinted her eyes at the photo. He didn't look familiar, but... the name... Moran. It registered somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind.

"I know the name from somewhere..." she began.

"I'm not surprised," Sherlock commented. "Manchester. If you were fucking Jake Venucci for over a year you're bound to have bumped into Moran once or twice."

"Thank you."

"Your words, not mine," he said abruptly.

Violet had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you investigating Jake."

"Don't worry. I don't think he's a big enough player."

"Still..." Violet said, standing up, "...I don't think I should... I don't think you should... discuss this with me anymore."

She walked back over to the kitchen.

Sherlock looked up at her.

"Why?"

"I'll make your tea."

Sherlock stood up and slowly made his way over to Violet. He leant against the kitchen cupboards, looking at her.

"Violet," he said softly.

She didn't say anything, except to sigh.

"Don't worry about that file. Or what Mycroft said."

Violet stopped what she was doing, and tried to control her emotions.

Sherlock continued, "I don't think you're going to run off to Jake with anything I find."

Violet tried to blink back a tear. "It's not that," she said looking down at the tea cups still. "I just don't want to know if you do find anything about Jake."

She looked up at Sherlock.

"I couldn't bear to know. Don't tell me anymore," her voice dropped almost to a whisper.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Violet.

"I don't understand what hold he's got over you," he said in a low voice.

Violet swallowed hard.

"He doesn't have a hold over me," she stated firmly. "I love him."

Sherlock felt he'd just been kicked in the guts, and blood drained from his face.

Violet realized the impact of her words. Her face softened and she took a step closer to Sherlock, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. He grew tense.

"Not like that," she began softly, "Like the love I have for my dad, and my step-brother. Like you do for John."

Sherlock frowned.

"You do love John. You just won't admit it," Violet continued, pressing closer to Sherlock, and putting her arms around his neck. "The love you feel when you care about somebody, like your family."

Violet looked searchingly into Sherlock's face. Colour had returned and he seemed to be imploring her with his eyes to keep talking to make him feel better.

"Not a romantic love. I'm not in love with him any more. I haven't been for a long time. I'm in love with you."

Violet touched her forehead to Sherlock's as the tension left his body. He smiled slightly.

"You scared me," he said in a hoarse voice.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back.

Sherlock hugged her tightly as Violet turned her head to press against his chest. She blinked back tears for Jake.

"Let's skip tea and go to bed," he said softly. "We're having a sleepover after all."

* * *

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"

Sherlock raced into his bedroom, to find out what Violet was yelling about.

"Violet! What happened?"

"You didn't wake me!" she yelled, dashing into his ensuite.

"What? Why? I always let you sleep in!" he called through the door.

"Not today! I've got a thing, remember!"

"No."

"At the shopping centre!"

"No."

A sound of frustration and anger emanated from the bathroom.

Sherlock thought he should just retreat for now.

"I'll make you a coffee!" he yelled back, as he left his room.

"Fuckin' hell!" Violet yelled, storming into the kitchen 15 minutes later, looking every bit like Christa, without the swollen womb, but heavy on the attitude.

"Oh," commented Sherlock, a bit shell-shocked at seeing her appearance.

"I'm going to be late! Can you call me a taxi?" she ordered, pulling things out of her backpack. "Handbag, handbag, where the fuck are you!"

"I'll just hail one from the street - it'll be quicker!" called Sherlock, dashing down the stairs.

"Fuck!" yelled Violet, as she took off after him.

By the time Violet reached the bottom stairs, Sherlock was just coming back in the door.

"Right. There's one out there. So..." he stopped, looking at Violet expectantly, not knowing exactly what his role was now that he was confronted with Christa in all her glory.

Violet stopped, and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, I mustn't have told you about this morning."

She reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

"Bye! Come down if you can!" she called back as she was out the door. It slammed shut behind her.

_Come down where?_

Sherlock continued back up the stairs. His phone buzzed in his trouser pocket. It buzzed two more times before he reached his flat. He pulled it out, opening the messages.

VIOLET: [ Sorry! Love you! On my way to Park Central Shopping Centre. Signing autographs 10-11am. Come down! ]

.

VIOLET: [ Did I say I love you?! ]

.

VIOLET: [ I love you! ]

Sherlock smiled to himself, then tapped away on his phone.

SHERLOCK: [ Despise shopping centres. ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ I love you too ]

.

VIOLET: [ I'll come back later? ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ Yes ]

* * *

**A/N:** I should clarify something at this point that I probably should have specified way way back in the beginning: in this AU, the big angsty, emotional scenes in the TV series did not happen, eg. Irene Adler, Moriarty, Reichenbach, only because I want this story to be Sherlock's main experience of these emotions.

Thank you!


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Mrs Hudson was humming as she brought in the plates of nibbles and set them down on the small tables she had scattered around her living room. A Sunday afternoon gathering in celebration of two of her favourite lodgers being reunited.

Violet had bumped into Mrs Hudson as she tried to sneak back into Sherlock's flat after her stint at the shopping centre had finished. Mrs Hudson had screamed, then cried, then set about organising a thing that very afternoon. Sherlock and Violet had insisted only John and Mary be invited over.

Mary and Violet entered from the kitchen, both carrying an assortment of nuts, chips, and crackers.

"...and John looked like he was just about to punch him," Mary finished, as Violet laughed.

"Where are the boys?" Mrs Hudson asked sternly, putting her hands on her hips.

"Upstairs looking at crime scene photos," Violet answered, taking a seat on one of Mrs Hudson's plump sofas.

"Boys!" Mrs Hudson called up the stairwell. "Have some manners and come down now!"

Mrs Hudson smiled proudly at Violet and made her way over to the sofa, sitting down and patting Violet's hand.

"We all watch you on the telly round here. Mrs Booth's son used to do deliveries for the production company, and one day he bumped into old Mr Myrtle, you know the one who runs the grocery store, and he said he was a rude bugger!"

"I don't think Mr Myrtle runs the grocery store any more, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock corrected the landlady as he strode into her living room. "He was run over by a cement truck reversing in the street. Don't you remember his hearing aid had malfunctioned earlier that day."

John snorted.

Sherlock picked up a couple of peanuts from the side table as he made his way over to sit on the other side of Violet.

Mary was pouring champagne into flutes. The non-alcoholic variety.

"Let's have a toast then," she said, as she and John handed round the drinks.

"To Violet and her new boyfriend," John declared facetiously, raising his glass.

They all raised their glasses and toasted Violet, except for Sherlock who took offense at John's jibe. Violet smiled at him, then kissed him affectionately on his cheek.

"What happened to your arm, Violet?" John asked, after noticing Violet's wrist as she raised her glass. John sauntered over, examining the bandaging with a critical eye.

"I was clearing Sherlock's table, when I accidentally smashed some test tubes," Violet replied. Sherlock squeezed her hand.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson reprimanded. "You leave such a mess behind!"

"A neat dressing though," John nodded appreciatively in Sherlock's direction.

"So what's happening next on Regency Road for Christa, Violet. Happily settling into motherhood?" John asked sitting on the arm of a chair currently occupied by Mary, and steering the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Oh, you know, the usual first-time mother problems - unsettled baby, sleepless nights, single mum issues. It could all get really tedious. I'm hoping they'll get rid of her. Maybe make her reunite with her sister in Cornwall."

"I knew her sister was still alive!" Sherlock interjected.

"No you didn't," John contradicted.

"Oh dear, why would you want to leave the show?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"I'd love to work on something completely different, Mrs Hudson," Violet answered. "But I guess it depends on the popularity of the character whether the writers want to get rid of them or not. And I only have a short contract anyway, since my character is quite new."

"And it also depends on how popular she is off screen as well as on, is that right Violet?" asked Mary.

Violet sighed and grinned at Mary.

"Well, you'll need to make yourself uninteresting then. No more picking up strange men in nightclubs!" John pretended to scold her. Mrs Hudson looked horrified.

Violet laughed. "Yes, well I just got interesting, now I'll have to be boring again."

"Maybe try not to be like your character so much off screen," Mary suggested.

"Yeah, be friendly to the autograph hunters," John offered.

"Smile," suggested Sherlock. Violet smiled up at Sherlock, as he grinned at her.

"Get yourself a steady boyfriend," John sniggered.

Sherlock glared at him.

"So when _are_ you two going to go public?" Mary asked.

"Oh, is it a secret?" Mrs Hudson gasped, putting her hand to her cheek and looking worried.

"Not any more," muttered John, and they all laughed.

"I'll just go and phone Mrs Turner from next door," Mrs Hudson said faintly as she left the room.

"I think we'll just wait til this mystery man nightclub pick up fades from the press before Sherlock and I are seen in public. It's probably not a good look for either of us if the random pickup guy becomes my serious boyfriend."

"So more sneaking around," Sherlock muttered, sinking back into the sofa.

"It'll be fun!" Violet turned to him, smiling sweetly. He frowned at her, then brightened when she kissed him on the lips.

"So when then?" John asked, placing his arm around Mary.

"The TELSAs?" Violet smirked.

"Yes!" said John enthusiastically. Mary laughed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at them.

"The what?"

"The TELSAs. The Television Soap Awards. You can escort Violet down the red carpet!" John said gleefully.

Violet turned to look at Sherlock, her eyes dancing.

"So?" Sherlock shrugged.

"It's a bit of a big deal," John replied.

"We get to dress up!" Violet remarked enthusiastically.

Sherlock looked round at them suspiciously.

"And what do we have to do exactly?"

"It's an awards night. So all of the people in the tv soap industry - actors, writers, directors, producers - have a special dinner and they're presented with different awards," Violet explained.

Sherlock scoffed.

"Dinner?"

Mary continued, "You'll be sitting at a table with Violet and some of the other Regency Road actors and their partners."

"So... people like Caity and Granny Weatherby," Sherlock said, smiling slyly.

"Uh, yeah, Chenoa Burton and Esme Duggan, you mean. Please don't call them by their character names on the night," Violet asked.

"And you'll get photographed on the red carpet escorting Violet," added Mary.

"And try to look thoughtful and intelligent - and interested! when Violet's getting interviewed," warned John.

"Interviewed?"

Sherlock looked concerned, his brow furrowed.

"I might not," Violet added quickly. "We can just smile and wave."

"At a few million people on the telly," John added under his breath.

Sherlock scowled at him.

"But they always ask who you're wearing!" Mary continued.

"Oh, yes, they do," Violet replied thoughtfully. She's going to need a dress, and Sherlock will need something...

"Who you're wearing!" Sherlock asked incredulously. "But you don't know! That's really inappropriate!"

"What?" asked John, surprised at Sherlock's sudden fashion insight.

"I will know by then," Violet answered, also confused at Sherlock's dramatic take.

"But..." he started, grasping a strand of Violet's hair, "Are you really going to say the dead girl's name?"

"What!?" Violet exclaimed, utterly confused. Then she noted Sherlock holding the strand of hair, and fell about him, laughing uncontrollably.

"What! What!" he asked angrily.

Violet couldn't stop laughing, tears were forming in her eyes. John and Mary looked bewildered.

"What!" Sherlock reiterated.

Violet tried to compose herself. She answered through tears, "They want to know who designed my evening gown, Sherlock. Not who's hair I'm wearing!"

* * *

"When are you going to move back home - into Baker Street?" Sherlock asked, as they lay in Violet's bed back in Gower Street later that evening.

"Do you want me to move in with you?" Violet asked, turning to Sherlock, and tracing circles onto his chest with her fingertips.

"Why wouldn't you? We're back together now," he replied, feeling a bit hurt that she had to ask.

"I'd have to... well, there's Alice to consider. She'll need a decent amount of notice to get someone else in."

"Why?"

"Why? So she won't have to pay all of the rent by herself."

"Oh rent. How dull."

"It may be okay for you, Mr Moneybags, but some of us have to live from week to week on what we earn. We can't all have monthly cheques sent to us from Prince Zahir from goodness knows where."

"Prince Charhir."

"Whatever. Have you been depositing the cheques?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"That's a no then."

"You know I never actually fired you when we broke up, so really that's your responsibility. You haven't shown up for work for about four months."

Violet stared into Sherlock's eyes wondering if he was serious until he grinned at her.

"Are you going to pay me then?" she asked.

"I'll pay you in sexual favours," he replied mischievously.

"And the balance?"

"More sexual favours," he whispered, pulling her in for a kiss.

Violet smiled as he kissed her, then she pulled away.

"Speaking of favours - I don't have to leave until 10 tomorrow, so you can go with Alice when she leaves at 9. That okay?"

"No," Sherlock replied sulkily.

"Look, she won't bite."

"It's not the biting I'm worried about. It's the tearing away of private parts I'm concerned with."

Violet laughed.

"I don't know if anyone's hanging around still, so can we just do that tomorrow?" she asked.

"And what happens the day after that and next one after that?" he asked, brooding.

"Okay, you're the answers-guy. You think up a strategy for seeing each other, and not letting the public know until the awards night."

"Move into Baker Street," he said simply.

"I can't move in with a man when I'm supposed to be chaste."

"No, you're moving in with your aunty Mrs Hudson."

"Aunty Mrs Hudson? You don't know what her given name is, do you?"

"Of course I do. Now hop off," he said tapping Violet's hand. "I need..."

"No! No smoking!"

"Why not?" he complained, sitting up.

"It's for cases only."

"I'm on a case," he said, swiveling his legs off the bed and standing up. "The Case of Violet Hunter's Secret Sex Life. I have to come up with a solution. You just asked me to. You're my client."

He strode over to his jacket which was slung over a chair, reached into a pocket and retrieved his ciggies.

Violet pulled all the blankets up around her in preparation for the cold draught through the window. Sherlock slipped into his coat - his regular blue coat - and strode over to the window. He looked back at Violet under the covers and said, "Why don't you put more clothes on?"

"Why don't you quit smoking?" she retorted.

"I can't. It's an addiction," he stated matter-of-factly. He opened the window, then lit up.

"So what's your solution to my secret sex life?" Violet asked after a few minutes of silence.

"You come over to Baker Street whenever you're not working," Sherlock concluded, staring out of the window.

"That's it? You won't come here?" Violet responded, feeling slightly irritated.

"Well, that's the only scenario that will work. When you're working you're physically not here during set hours. My work comes in at any time, day or night, and I can't have restrictions on when I can and can't leave here."

Violet pouted for while, sliding further under the covers and turning away from Sherlock.

"Problem?" he asked eventually.

"Nope. You've got it all figured out," came the voice from under the covers.

"Good," Sherlock stated, puffing away.

The lump under the covers sighed, which went unnoticed by the consulting detective.

"When is this awards night?" Sherlock asked after several more moments of silence.

There was an inaudible murmuring under the covers in response.

"What?" he asked.

"In about a month," Violet answered, briefly throwing the covers down. She frowned at Sherlock, who was still gazing out of the window.

"Do I have to go?" he asked, turning around to look at her.

"No, I'll take the next guy I fuck in a nightclub!" she snapped, drawing the covers over her head again.

Sherlock was slightly taken aback. Then he said, calmly, "Oh, you're angry with me."

A muttered response under the cover.

"I can't hear you," he said irritably.

Violet pulled the covers down again. She was looking quite disheveled by now, and very cross.

"Do whatever you think is best. You will anyway."

Sherlock butted out his cigarette and gently closed the window without responding to Violet. Her blood started to boil.

Then Sherlock's phone started to beep from the bedside table. He smiled.

"What? Who is it?" Violet demanded.

"It's an alarm, not a ringtone," he answered sheepishly.

Instead of picking up his phone, Sherlock walked back to the chair and shrugged out of his coat.

"Read it," he said softly to Violet. "I decided not to delete it - sentiment. It beeps every month."

Violet reached over to his phone and read the screen.

[ ALARM 11th March ]  
[ Violet is premenstrual. ]

Violet's heart leapt for him. She smiled.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she asked, placing his phone down on her bedside table.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed from the end, making his way on top of Violet.

"No. Just nostalgic."

He stopped short, caressing her face.

"You're quite wrong, you know," Violet whispered as Sherlock bent to kiss her.

Not words he liked to hear. He paused.

"How?"

Violet smiled smugly.

"You've set it on a monthly timer," she began.

"So, that's..." Sherlock interrupted.

"That's every calendar month," she stated, raising her eyebrows. "My cycle is every 28 days, so you're..."

"...out by about 9 days," Sherlock finished, hanging his head. "But you're..."

He was going to say 'over emotional' but Violet finished his sentence for him.

"...just a moody bitch."

* * *

Sherlock regarded the papers and files in front of him. He wasn't given the luxury of taking these home to Baker Street. He was sitting in an office of the National Organised Crime Agency in central London. His brow was furrowed. He needed a cigarette.

He read under his breath, "Moran came from an impoverished family... criminal career began when he was a doorman at various clubs around Manchester... irrelevant ... irrelevant... useless..."

Sherlock shuffled the papers around.

He scanned a few more, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"...acquired businesses in London, Manchester and Newcastle..."

"Anything?"

A rotund, bald-headed man poked his head through the door of the office. Sherlock gave him a severe look, which caused the man to flush and withdraw his head.

He continued reading, "...gangland murder of a rival leader..."

Sherlock began to concentrate on the surveillance documents and photos from Manchester. Moran was currently residing there, although he made frequent trips to London. He had escaped police custody for the last five years. He appeared to be clean now. But the man was an idiot. Who was pulling the strings and keeping the heat off Moran?

* * *

Violet strode into Sherlock's living room. She was quite upset after being at the studio today, and even more so when she discovered that Sherlock wasn't home yet. She sighed, then put the kettle on. She poured herself a cuppa, then sank into her favourite armchair. After a few minutes Violet had calmed down considerably. Perhaps it was the tea, but more likely just being here, in Baker Street, knowing Sherlock wouldn't be too far away.

With a familiar eye, she took in the mess on top of the living room table.

I guess he still needs an assistant then, she thought to herself.

Violet set about sorting through the piles of papers and correspondence with a practiced eye. Having processed most of those, she opened Sherlock's notebook, and started scanning emails. Some of the cases sounded really interesting, and she longed to accompany Sherlock again, watching his brow furrow in intense concentration, alternating that with being seized with inspiration and dashing about with a tremendous amount of energy.

Her phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ Where are you? ]

VIOLET: [ Home. Yours. x ]

SHERLOCK: [ Ours. I'll see you soon. ]

Yay! Violet closed Sherlock's notebook and hurried to his bedroom. She quickly shed her clothing then climbed under the covers. Perfect.

She had almost fallen asleep when she felt the bed sink in beside her.

"I knew I'd find Goldilocks eventually," he whispered.

"Oh," Violet stretched sleepily. "I fell asleep."

"Clearly," Sherlock stated. "Someone's been sitting in my chair, doing some filing and snooping through my emails."

"It's not snooping when I'm your assistant," she replied drowsily.

Sherlock bent down and kissed her.

"And now here she is in my bed," he said seductively.

"How was your day, dear?" she asked him.

Sherlock grinned.

"I actually had a day in the office. It was extremely frustrating."

"Well come in here then," Violet opened the blanket enticingly.

"Why Goldilocks," Sherlock murmured, standing up and removing his jacket, "You don't appear to be wearing anything."

"All the better to fuck you with, my dear."

Sherlock couldn't remove his clothes fast enough.

It was all still new to them. Having each other at last, but not knowing when and where or how often they'd get together, made each encounter all the more exhilarating.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered into Violet's neck as he breathed heavily and lay panting beside her after they'd finished. Violet's body was still tingling from her and Sherlock's efforts.

"I love you, too," she breathed.

Sherlock reached over and gently held her hand. They both drifted off to sleep, quite content, even though it was only early evening.

By the time Violet woke up, it was about 8pm, and she was starving. She could smell a delicious aroma coming through Sherlock's door.

The door opened suddenly.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked softly, peering in through the door. He was wearing pyjamas and his blue satin dressing gown.

"Mmm," Violet replied, stretching.

"Come on then," Sherlock beckoned. "Put that one on if you like."

He pointed to his second best dressing gown hanging on a hook behind his door. Violet quickly pulled on the robe and made her way to the kitchen.

"I ordered in," Sherlock said, looking up from laying out the food and plates on the breakfast bar.

"Smells gorgeous."

They ate in silence for a while, until Sherlock tutted at Violet's arm.

"Who bandaged that?"

"The make-up artist," she answered.

"Why?"

"They had to remove it during shooting. It's not bleeding any more."

"Couldn't they shoot around it?"

"Bit tricky. I was holding a baby. Oh, Sherlock, they're so gorgeous!"

"They?"

"The triplets. They all play my baby Connor. They're really placid!"

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'll dress it again after dinner," he said. "We have to keep it clean."

Violet debated whether to tell Sherlock about what had upset today. She may as well - they're supposed to be sharing things now she guessed.

"I got in trouble today."

"Why?"

"Because of the weekend. More specifically my arm."

"Why? It was an accident!" he argued.

"Meredith doesn't want me to tell the truth about what happened. I mean, I told her exactly what happened, and she was horrified. She said I wasn't allowed to tell anyone that."

"What's so horrific about what happened? A bit... seedy maybe," Sherlock stated, smirking. "Who's Meredith, anyway?"

"The publicist. Coming off the Friday night thing...and the odd thing about the test tube..."

"What do you mean?"

Violet tried to smile, but she was upset thinking about it again.

"Meredith said that it would appear that I had spent the weekend with the guy I picked up in the club on Friday night..."

"But that's the truth..." Sherlock interrupted.

"...and I cut my arm having sex on his kitchen table..."

"True again."

"... on a test tube because the table was littered with his meth lab equipment."

Sherlock laughed, which was evidently the incorrect response according to Violet.

"What a load of bollocks," Sherlock said eventually, reading Violet's body language. "So what does it matter what she thinks?"

"It's not what _she_ thinks. She gets phone calls from the press asking to explain Violet Hunter's uncharacteristic behavior on the weekend, specifically the nightclub and then showing up to an autograph signing with one arm bandaged up."

Sherlock sighed. He wasn't going to get used to this.

Violet continued, "The official word is: I cut my arm on a broken glass while I was doing the dishes."

"Oh, boring," responded Sherlock.

"Well if it's boring enough then perhaps they won't print anything."

Violet gathered up the dishes and took them over to the kitchen sink. Sherlock's phone buzzed from the table.

"Lestrade. I have to get this."

He stood up and walked into the living room while talking on his phone to the D.I. Violet continued clearing the table. Sherlock was pacing, and running one hand through his hair as he did when he was frustrated.

He ended the call.

"I have to go," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry."

Violet leant against the kitchen sink, facing him.

"Don't be. This is what we do," she smiled half-heartedly, as Sherlock walked to her. They embraced briefly.

"I have to get dressed," he said distractedly. His mind was already on a new case.

Violet washed the dishes, careful not to get her bandage wet. She had just finished as Sherlock came out of his bedroom, fully dressed. He walked over to the living room door and grabbed his coat off it.

"I don't know how late I'll be," he said apologetically, donning his coat.

"That's okay," Violet replied, walking over to him. "I think I'll just go home."

"What? Why?"

"I didn't bring clothes or anything. I was just excited to come over and see you. I didn't go home to get anything first."

Sherlock sighed as he hugged her.

"I was looking forward to slipping into an already warm bed."

"You still can - just in another street," she whispered, looking up at him.

"Can I ring your doorbell at 3 in the morning without getting castrated by Alice?"

"Um, probably not."

"Thought so," he murmured. He bent down and kissed her, just briefly. He was conscious of not getting himself worked up just before meeting the detectives from Scotland Yard.

Sherlock studied Violet's face, before he broke into a broad grin.

"What?" she asked.

"I love you."

"Go!"

Violet broke out of their embrace.

"We'll figure it out in the long run," Sherlock remarked, winding his scarf around his neck. He winked, and was gone.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** I like how my spell check now knows when I've misspelt 'Sherlock'.

* * *

**Chapter 29**

"What the fuck is the use of you!...oh, fuck you, you useless piece of shite!"

Violet tossed her phone onto Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock noticed a lot of Manchester coming out whenever Violet was stressed.

"What did she say?" he asked gently, hoping to calm Violet down a little.

"She said they can write what they like. It's only a fucking opinion piece." Violet was pacing now. Sherlock walked over to her and tried to pull her into a hug.

"No, no, no, don't!" she said, putting her arms up. She was highly strung, he could see that.

"Violet," he said, soothingly.

She sat down on his bed and put her head in her hands.

"Fuckers!" she cursed under her breath. Sherlock sat down next to her and put his arms around her. He thought she would cry, but she was just so angry.

Her phone rang again.

"Tell them to fuck off!"

"It's your dad," Sherlock informed her, glancing at the screen.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" she yelled, taking the phone from Sherlock.

"Dad?" she said much more calmly and walked out of the room.

Sherlock stared down at Violet's ipad, which lay discarded on the bed. On the screen was the cause of all the grief. It was an entertainment gossip blog which Mandi was subscribed to. In fact, Mandi followed most of the gossip, and spent many week nights procuring articles about Violet. She had phoned Violet in a panic the minute she had read it.

_**Regency Road to Ruin **_was the title of the blog entry. It was an opinion piece about Violet Hunter, spiraling out of control, not coping with her new found fame on the small screen - weekends spent partying, getting drunk, doing coke in nightclub toilets, picking up strangers, and her latest: an attempted suicide by slitting one of her wrists.

All of this was heavily implied of course - no facts, just interviews with 'close friends'.

Violet had phoned Meredith, the publicist, but there wasn't anything that could be done legal-wise, causing Violet to yell obscenities at the woman.

Sherlock sighed. He wasn't equipped for this. What he would normally do was ignore anything that wasn't evidence, that wasn't factual (that was until the great Mycroft file of misinformation - but he'd just ignore that for the moment). He could do that - ignore, but he couldn't make Violet do the same, or any of the media outlets who were ringing her publicist, and more than likely Violet's father for confirmation of what was written in the blog.

He ventured back out into the living area now that he could hear that Violet was no longer talking on the phone. She was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands again.

Sherlock turned to the bookshelf behind him, reached up and retrieved the half empty bottle of Scotch whiskey. He took down two tumblers from the next shelf, and poured two drinks. He walked over to Violet and sat down on the couch next to her, setting the drinks on the coffee table.

"Are you joking?" she whispered. She still wasn't crying, but clearly seething.

"It will calm you down. I'm here, I won't let you have any more than one."

He picked up his glass, then handed Violet hers.

"Just one?" she asked quietly.

"Just one," he replied, smiling. "My shout, remember?"

Violet smiled at him, then downed the whole lot in one enormous swig.

"Oh, fuck, that tastes like battery acid!"

Sherlock did the same, without the grimacing or the swearing. Then he stood up, and walked over to the shelf that held his stereo. He turned it on, selecting a series of waltzes, then turned to Violet extending his hand.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, somewhat formally.

Violet wanted to say, "You're shittin' me aren't you?" but that response didn't seem to suit the occasion, and Sherlock's earnest look. Instead she replied, "I would be delighted."

Sherlock led Violet to the middle of his living room. He placed one hand in the middle of her back, and held out his right hand. Violet placed her left hand lightly on Sherlock's shoulder and her right hand in his. Sherlock guided them around the small area in time to the waltz. They gazed at each other quite seriously. Violet was mesmerised by Sherlock's icy cold grey eyes, and the command he had over her body - his steps light and flowing, his touch in the middle of her back almost imperceptible, guiding her forward or backwards. She felt like a princess.

Around and around they glided. Bodies not touching, except the light touch of their arms and hands. Violet dared not shift her gaze from Sherlock's.

Sherlock smiled ever so slightly and so did she.

"You can dance!" she whispered, hardly daring to break the atmosphere.

"I went to an all boys boarding school. Of course I can fucking dance!" he joked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Violet laughed.

The first waltz finished, and Sherlock took his hand from around Violet's waist, and bowed slightly. Violet curtseyed. Then Sherlock pulled Violet in again, tighter this time, and they danced together a little less formally, their faces almost touching. Violet was lost in his eyes. Her whole body was alight from his touch and his gaze, which seemed all the more seductive because he wasn't touching her in any sexual way. He still led her around the floor, and Violet felt her heart beating faster with the alcohol making its presence known, and the sensuality of the dancing.

Sherlock continued to meet Violet's gaze, and he seemed to smirk slightly at the tension he was causing by seeming to deny Violet permission to narrow that gap between them, the last few centimeters when their lips could touch.

Violet felt like they were transported back a century, where such close proximity dancing would cause quite a scandal, and this kiss she was trying to steal from Sherlock would be something akin to indecent fondling.

Sherlock moved in, his face almost side by side with hers now. She could feel his breath on her neck. It was agonising! She wouldn't be the first to give in. This was like a game now. He slowed down their movements, so they were no longer in time with the beat. He pressed her against him. This was causing a scandal up and down her body. This was not decent by 19th century standards.

Violet glided her left hand from Sherlock's shoulder up to the back of his neck, caressing him there. Their right hands parted so Violet could fully embrace Sherlock around the neck now, and he could place both of his hands on her back. Each additional touch filled them both with electricity, and at the same time, they both tried to deny each other the temptation to urgently take what they so wantonly desired.

Sherlock moved his head back a little, so that they faced each other once more. He smirked even more. Violet couldn't resist him a moment longer. He could win! She was stealing the kiss anyway. She closed her eyes and leaned in those last few centimeters until she could feel Sherlock's soft lips on hers. He parted his lips a little, a quick dart of his tongue inviting hers to do the same. A little wider now, warm and wet.

This was like that first kiss they had ever shared. She had stolen it first. Tender, yet hesitant, then full of promise of what was yet to come.

The second piece had ended and they were momentarily enveloped in silence. They stopped moving from side to side, and enjoyed just their passionate kiss. As the next piece started, Sherlock let his hands start to wander.

"Sherlock?"

Mrs Hudson called out tentatively, halfway up the stairs. The landlady was unsure of what she would find up there, having heard the story from John and Mary months ago about Sherlock's meltdown. The music was nowhere near as loud as it had been that night, and much more pleasant. Still, it's mere presence was out of the norm.

Violet and Sherlock reluctantly stopped kissing, but remained in each other's embrace as Mrs Hudson came into view. She looked quite distraught.

"Mrs Hudson?" Violet asked, quite concerned and moving out of Sherlock's arms toward her. Sherlock walked over to the corner and turned the music off.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mrs Hudson stammered.

"It's okay, we were just dancing," Violet reassured her, but she then realized that the older woman was upset about something other than their embrace. "Mrs Hudson, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Violet. I just got off the phone from Mrs Turner..."

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock began in a calm voice, "None of it is true. It's all made up. Violet's fine, you can see that. And I'm with her, which makes the story about her picking up strange men a complete lie. It all is..."

Mrs Hudson regarded them both for a moment, until Violet moved over and gave her a hug.

"Oh, I'm just being silly!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed. "Of course you're fine."

"Now you go and tell Mrs Turner not to believe everything she reads on the internet," Sherlock said gently.

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson turned and left.

Sherlock came up behind Violet and embraced her from behind. He kissed her cheek and asked, "Feeling better?"

Violet turned around to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck again, "You're amazing, do you know that?"

Sherlock made a show of thinking about that for a second, then replied, "Yes, I think I do."

Violet's phone began to ring again.

"I'll answer it," Sherlock said, picking it up from the coffee table.

"Hello?... ah, yes... no, she's much better now, thank you Mandi... Oh, can you? She would really appreciate that. Okay, see you soon."

"Clothes?" asked Violet, understanding the gist of that conversation. Mandi was going to pick up some clothes from her place in Gower Street and bring them here. Alice had said there were two photographers waiting outside now.

Violet's phone rang again.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered. He frowned while he listened to the caller. "I'll put her on."

He looked quite concerned as he handed the phone to Violet.

"Andy Ashburrough?" he said to Violet.

Violet looked pained and mouthed, "Oh, fuck!" to Sherlock. She took the phone and walked off to his bedroom. Sherlock thought, now what?

He grabbed the glass tumblers from the coffee table and took them over to the kitchen. He slowly washed them, waiting for Violet to return. When she didn't, he left the kitchen and went to his bedroom. She was lying on her stomach in the middle of the bed reading the blog entry again.

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked, sitting down on the bed.

Violet pushed the ipad away, and rolled onto her back. Looking up at Sherlock, she smiled faintly and replied, "Casting Director. Senior Casting Director. I have a meeting tomorrow morning. They want to sort something out with my contract. It was only for three months anyway. They wanted to gauge how my character was working out before deciding whether to extend it or not."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"I wanted out. This is my chance. It depends on whether it gets ugly or not. My future employment prospects may hinge on that. Besides, I can always get a job as a personal assistant. Know anyone who needs one?"

Sherlock was glad to see Violet's eyes shining so brightly as she stared up at him. He bent down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and held him there.

"I don't know what kind of mess I'd be in if I didn't have you."

Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"Well let me see," he began rather sheepishly, "You picked me up in a bar, and you cut your arm while having sex with me on my kitchen table. I conclude that you wouldn't be in any kind of mess if it wasn't for me."

Violet grinned up at him.

"It was worth it. I'd give it all away tomorrow, just to..."

And now she cried.

Sherlock lay down beside her, and pulled her close to him. She cried into his chest, while he stroked her hair.

Sherlock left Violet lying there, asleep, when he answered the doorbell. It was Mandi, bringing Violet some clothes. Sherlock found himself making her a cup of tea.

He reflected on how much he had changed since he'd met Violet. He wouldn't normally be making cups of tea for women such as Mandi. He would get what he needed from them, whether they were making sandwiches for him in the sandwich bar, selling him a pair of gloves in a department store, or being introduced to him as John's latest date, or delivering clothes for... his girlfriend. He'd take what he needed, make some snide remark, perhaps receive a slap in his face for his troubles, and that was it.

But here was Violet's friend, concerned for Violet, delivering clothes to her because she was holed up in her boyfriend's flat, too scared to return to her own because of the presence of the paparazzi. And now Sherlock thought it the decent thing to do: offer her a cuppa and make polite small talk.

Mandi told him some interesting gossip about Alice. Well, he thought it ought to be of some interest to Violet, so he listened respectfully.

Apparently Alice had always been jealous of Violet in the theatre scene, and then she became quite livid at what she thought was Violet's relative success on the small screen. These days she was more smug at what she hoped was the end of days for Violet and her TV career.

Mandi said she never liked Alice anyway, and didn't know why Violet moved in with her when there was a perfectly good spare room at her and Gavin's place.

"And how is Gavin?" Sherlock made the mistake of asking.

* * *

Finally the end of a very odd week was here. Friday. And Sherlock didn't have his usual nervous anticipation of whether he would get lucky tonight and bump into Violet at Kabuki's. She was already here, snuggled up beside him in bed. Naked. All was right with the world.

Well, almost. Violet had a nerve-wracking day ahead of her: finding out the status of her contract, and if her acting career was in ruins before it had hardly begun. Sherlock felt a little bit - okay, maybe mostly - responsible for this week's events.

He kissed her forehead, and gently touched her shoulder.

"Violet, it's almost time."

She rolled into him and murmured, "No, make love to me again..."

She lazily kissed his neck.

"No time for that," he whispered. "You have to shower first. You've got an early start remember? You've got a meeting."

She was awake, and grumpy.

"Come on," Sherlock said, getting out of bed. He walked around to her side and held out his hand. "Shower, and I'll make you coffee."

Violet got up, ignoring his hand and plodded into the bathroom.

Not a morning person.

Sherlock dressed in pyjamas, then busied himself in the kitchen making coffee, and preparing a bowl of weetbix for Violet. He felt like a parent getting their child ready for school.

She came out, looking fresher, but despondent.

Sherlock tried to cheer her up over breakfast, telling her amusing anecdotes about past cases, and John, but Violet didn't respond as he'd hoped.

Finally Violet spoke.

"Sherlock, look I love you, but could you please shut the fuck up. I can't think of anything else but this fucking meeting."

She stood up and continued, "After the meeting I'll fucking blow you in the middle of Trafalgar fucking Square, but until then, for the love of everything that's fucking holy can you please..."

But Sherlock had already walked out of the kitchen and into his bedroom.

Violet sighed and put her cereal bowl and coffee mug into the sink then left.

Sherlock went back to bed.

* * *

VIOLET: [ I'm sorry x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ I'm a fuckhead x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Really will blow you in Trafalgar Square though x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Waiting outside big nob's office for meeting. Scared. x ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ You will be fine. Don't be Christa. Be Violet. Don't call him a nob. I LOVE YOU. SH ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ Turn phone off now. Not a good look. SH]

VIOLET: [ x ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ Trafalgar Square. SH ]

* * *

Later:

VIOLET: [ Contract ext. 1 mth to allow shooting of Christa's final scenes! The bitch is going to Cornwall! x ]

VIOLET: [ Can't go to T. Square. Still shooting today. x ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ In Manchester. Will ring later. SH ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ Congratulations. I think. Is it? SH ]

Violet tried to ring Sherlock during her break, but his phone went straight through to his messages.

In Manchester? Why?

* * *

Violet finished shooting at 3, so she had time to get to the bank to deposit the cheques Sherlock had neglected. She hadn't heard back from him. She didn't like the idea of him being in Manchester. It was too close to Jake. She wondered how the case was going. No, she didn't want to know. Still...

Did she know Sebastian Moran? Had she ever met him? Had she met him but was off her nut so she wouldn't remember? Did he have anything to do with Jake these days?

Violet entered the bank wondering if she would get recognised. She normally wouldn't care if she was recognised from the show, but now that all this internet crap had come out she didn't want to be thought about in that way.

Violet wore a loose beanie, sunnies, and had no make-up on. She was never recognized from the soapie whenever her hair was hidden and she didn't wear heavy eyeliner. That may change though. Christa's birth scenes that they had shot weeks ago had her with almost no eyeliner otherwise her face would've been a mess by the end of it. Those scenes would be aired next week.

She did realize though, that most people don't expect to see celebrities in ordinary places like banks and the dry cleaners. Violet thought she would spend her free time running errands for Sherlock, like she used to. It made her feel happy and closer to him.

But she really longed to go with him on a case.

A case in the country.

How romantic.

* * *

VIOLET: [ ? ]

.

Nothing.

It was 10pm. Violet had eaten dinner with Mrs Hudson earlier. She was worried. Her Regency Road friends had tried to entice her out to Kabuki's but she couldn't imagine anything worse. She had phoned Mandi, Mary, her Dad and her step-brother Ben, in that order, to let them know about her contract extension. She'd finished tidying up Sherlock's desk, read her script for the coming week, vacuumed the living room rug and browsed through Sherlock's meagre CD collection now that she knew he had one.

She lay on the couch.

She lit the fire.

She read her script some more from the comfort of her favourite armchair.

Her phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ Hope you're naked and in my bed. SH ]

* * *

She really was naked, and in his bed. In fact she had taken all the covers off the bed, so there wasn't anything else _but_ a naked Violet in his bed. A fairly good effort on Violet's part considering Sherlock had sent the text as soon as he alighted from the taxi downstairs.

In the 8 seconds it took for Sherlock to walk into his living room, loosen his scarf, hang it on the back of the door, shed his coat and hang that up, he had taken in the scene Violet had only just vacated: the lit fire, the script left on the armchair, then a trail of clothes leading to his bedroom.

He slowly entered his room and surveyed the nude art form in front of him.

"Welcome to Trafalgar Square," she said.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

The living room table was so clear that Violet thought they could eat breakfast there. She ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. Sherlock just had a boiled egg and soldiers. As he read the paper over breakfast Violet thought it all felt very domestic. Should she mention that to Sherlock, or would he cringe? They both ate in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. She smiled and pushed her bacon around with her fork as he turned over a page.

The paper was slowly lowered and Sherlock peered over the top at her, narrowing his eyes.

"What's so amusing?"

"Nothing," she said, grinning stupidly, and taking a mouthful of bacon.

He frowned at her, and raised the paper back up.

"How was Manchester?" she asked, swallowing.

"Raining."

"Meet anyone nice?" she ventured.

"You mean of the Jake variety?" he answered, not lowering his paper.

"Anyone, really."

He closed his newspaper and folded it up, placing it on the table next to him.

"I visited the Greater Manchester branch of the National Organised Crime Agency."

"Lovely. And how are they?"

"Good."

"Good. Any progress?"

"I thought you didn't want to know?"

"Just wanted to know in a general sense if it's working out for you," Violet replied, taking a sip of her tea.

"I'm not doing much - merely analysing the evidence gathered by the N.O.C.A. They're doing all the leg work - surveillance, undercover."

"Oh."

Sherlock regarded Violet for a moment.

"You do know that they have Jake under surveillance, don't you?"

"Um, yes... otherwise how did Mycroft get those artistic photos of me."

Sherlock sighed.

Violet decided to voice the small concern that had been growing in the back of her mind ever since she had acquired some semblance of being a public figure these last few months.

"Sherlock...the photos of me you had... do you think anyone else could get at those?"

Sherlock gave Violet a look of reassurance.

"The thought had occurred..." he began.

"So what can I do about it?"

"It's all taken care of," he finished.

"How?"

"Mycroft has removed all trace of you from the N.O.C.A. database, and also removed any dubious hospital and police records about you."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes. I asked him to."

_Sherlock gets a coat for Christmas and I get a clean slate, courtesy of Mycroft. Well he's the gift that keeps on giving_, Violet thought to herself.

"What police records?" she asked worriedly.

"Apparently your father filed a missing persons report?"

"Oh. Yes."

"How long were you missing?"

"The entire time I was in Manchester," Violet replied sheepishly. "I kind of left London for Manchester one day, and didn't tell him or make contact with him. That's one of the reasons why we have such a tight relationship," she finished, peppering her statement lightly with sarcasm.

Violet continued, "So how did Mycroft get those photos? Does he work for the N.O.C.A. ?"

"More likely they work for him. Everybody does. Well, actually he works for the British Government. No... he _is_ the British Government."

"How does that work?"

Sherlock shrugged, then picked up his phone, and began reading through new messages.

"Well, my Friday went okay," Violet remarked after some silence and changing the subject when she realized Sherlock had nothing more to say.

Sherlock kept studying his phone.

"And how was your Friday, Violet?" Violet asked herself. "Great thanks Sherlock. How nice of you to ask."

He looked up at her. She was still smiling. He continued gazing at her, his face showing no emotion, like he was studying her. Violet raised her eyebrows at him, which finally made him smile. He put down his phone, poured himself another cup of tea then asked, "How did the meeting go?"

"Not as scary as I thought it would be."

"And what did... what did you call him ... the big nob... have to say about everything?"

"He didn't say anything about the blog post. He just talked about what their intentions for Christa were."

"Which are?"

"I got the impression they wanted to get rid of Christa anyway, but they didn't want any kind of scandal or bad press. They were hoping I would act professionally, finish all my scenes with dignity and in return they wouldn't rubbish my name."

"So that's all good then?" Sherlock inquired, taking a sip of tea.

"Mmm. No more press obligations after next week. I have to appear on Brekky TV on Monday to talk about the upcoming week on the show. It's the first time I've done that..."

"You're doing what?"

"Brekky TV - it's a lifestyle program on in the mornings which has news, weather, special guests, that sort of thing. They always have someone from Regency Raod talking about what's coming up that week. Usually the character who has the biggest storyline. In this case - me! Christa! The birth is this week. Haven't you been following?"

"I haven't watched it all week for some strange reason," Sherlock smirked. "So ... you're being interviewed?"

"Yeah. It's not a regular interview. More about summarising the storyline for the week and they show previews - all approved beforehand though."

"And so... what if they ask you about... stuff."

"They're not really allowed to waste too much time on my personal life. It's all about the show."

"That's not really good journalism is it?"

"This is not journalism. It's basically an ad for the show disguised as an interview."

"Oh," Sherlock replied, feeling confused. "So this is Monday morning?"

"Yes."

"Broadcast live?"

"Yep. I have to get up at... about...5?"

Sherlock scowled. "How am I going to manage that?"

Violet reached for Sherlock's hand.

"Just don't try to cheer me up that early!"

He squeezed her hand and smiled.

His phone buzzed with a message.

"Excellent," he murmured. "Where did you put my computer?"

He rose out of his seat, looking around and frowning.

"Behind you on the coffee table," Violet replied, also standing up.

She began to stack up the breakfast dishes while Sherlock made his way over to the couch.

"What are you working on?" Violet called from the kitchen.

Sherlock didn't reply.

_I wonder if he knows it's Saturday,_ she thought. What would she normally be doing? Sleeping in after a late night, attend a publicity or charity thing, except if it's scheduled for a Sunday, studying her script, getting hair or nails redone, shopping with Alice, coffee with Matt, visiting her Dad...

Would Sherlock want to meet her dad? She tried to imagine that little scenario. Sherlock could pretend to be charming to people when he needed to be. Could he sustain that over a whole meal though, like brunch? _Oh my God, how is he going to cope at the TELSAs, surrounded by a lot of phony show biz people?_ Violet felt slightly panicky. She had never actually asked Sherlock if this was okay. All of it. Being in the spotlight because she was. He was a private detective, for goodness sake. How can a private detective be plastered all over the internet and appear in the press?

John had told Violet that Sherlock had been buying gossip magazines. So he knows what's in them. Has he ever imagined he could possibly appear in them himself?

"Sighing again," Sherlock called out from the living room.

Violet put the dish cloth down and walked over to him.

"How is it that you can hear my sighing, but you don't hear my question?"

"I heard it," he said not looking up. "My brain was processing something else at the time."

How does he get away with just being plain rude. She looked at him typing away, and frowning. She smiled to herself. She loves him - the cold, unemotional prick.

Violet sat down on the coffee table next to Sherlock's notebook, facing him.

"What are you working on?"

"A case."

"Obviously. What case? If it's the Moran case, I'll leave you to it. If it's a new case, can I hear about it?"

Sherlock absentmindedly put his hand on Violet's thigh.

"A new case," he said, reading.

"Oh good," Violet commented, waiting for more.

Sherlock remained silent, his eyes quickly scanning the text on the screen, as he slowly rubbed Violet's leg below her pyjama shorts.

"Tell me about it," she prompted.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and looked up at Violet with a look of irritation.

"I can solve this right now if you'd stop interrupting me!"

_This could go one of three ways,_ thought Violet._ Storm off and pout, graciously leave, or straddle him now and have my way with him._

Violet stood up. She leant over and kissed Sherlock on the forehead and whispered, "Sorry."

She walked back to the kitchen and finished washing the dishes. Afterwards Violet collected laundry from Sherlock's bathroom and headed downstairs to the basement to wash it.

Sherlock, eventually, had solved his case. He looked back at the final email he had sent his client and smiled to himself.

"Yes! I'm on fire!" he muttered, then looked around for Violet for confirmation. He frowned. He didn't remember her leaving. Had he upset her? He cursed himself for not being more attentive. He couldn't hear any sign of her in his flat, so he wandered downstairs. Probably having a natter with Mrs Hudson.

She wasn't.

He wandered back upstairs, then checked his phone which he had left on the coffee table.

VIOLET: [ Shopping with Alice. You didn't notice I'd left did you? Do you need anything? x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Hungry? I'll bring lunch back. x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ I'm having a late lunch with Matt since you didn't reply. x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Help, help, I'm being kidnapped by masked gunmen. x ]

.  
VIOLET: [ jokes x ]

Sherlock sighed and looked at his watch. 3pm. Where did the day go?

SHERLOCK: [ Did you say something? SH ]

VIOLET: [ I'm at Mandi's. She asked us over for dinner. x ]

SHERLOCK: [ Going to the morgue. SH ]

VIOLET: [ ? ]

VIOLET: [ Dinner? ]

.  
Violet phoned him. Straight through to message bank.  
_Asshole!_

* * *

He came back home at 9pm.  
His bed was empty.  
The flat was cold.

SHERLOCK: [ I'm home. SH ]

.  
VIOLET: [ So am I. ]

.  
Sherlock was confused.

SHERLOCK: [ Where? ]

.  
VIOLET: [ Gower. ]

_Oh_.  
He was in trouble now.  
Should he go over? Not only would Violet be mad at him, but he would have to face the wrath of that nutcracker Alice.

_Fuckin' hell_. This was exactly the kind of murky relationship waters he'd avoided navigating through at university.

Surely everyone's priority in life was to maximise their own happiness. Having dinner at Mandi's would not make Sherlock happy and going to Gower Street where Alice was would also not make him happy. Violet should know that, so why did she insist on these things? He didn't ask if she'd like to go to the morgue. It seemed fairly straightforward to Sherlock, so why did he feel bad?

His phone rang.

_Violet_.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello, yourself," she replied.

She was testing him.

"So I came home because I thought we both needed some space," she continued when he didn't say anything. "We don't have to do everything together. We do need time apart to do our own things, don't we?"

Sherlock frowned, it was a trap. If he agreed with her, then she'd get upset that he didn't love her enough, or some nonsense. If he disagreed, then he'd have to show up at Gower Street to prove that he just had to be with her always.

He couldn't win, so think! How to escape the trap.

Avoidance!

"I love you," he said in a small voice.

Silence.

Then Violet laughed.

He passed the test!

"I love you, too," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered, feeling quite disappointed.

"Okay... bye!" she said.

"Goodbye."

She ended the call.  
He passed.  
But he felt sad.  
_This wasn't what winning should feel like._

* * *

Violet jogged up the stairs. This was beginning to be a bad habit: only jogging on Sunday mornings. She'd probably needed to get gym membership at some stage like everybody else.

She was able to escape the paparazzo (only one today), because she wore the same clothes she had on last week. He wouldn't be able to sell these photos, as it would be assumed they were last week's pictures. And the weather was the same: slightly overcast. He took a couple of pictures then disappointedly dropped his camera as she ran past. Violet waved at him, then she preceded to jog over to Baker Street.

Sherlock was already up and reading the paper seated in his armchair, but still dressed in pjs and dressing gown. He looked up in surprise as Violet bounded in.

"Hi!" she said, strolling over to him and pulling headphones out of her ears. She leant down and kissed him as he put the paper down. She was moving far too quickly for him.

"Hello," he managed to say as she took off through the kitchen.

"Just taking a shower," she called back.

Sherlock picked up his newspaper again. Then he put it down and had a better idea.

"Out!" she commanded as he tried to enter the bathroom.

"But..." he complained, stopping in the doorway.

"I'll be out in a minute," she replied. She started rinsing her hair.

"This will be more fun."

"No."

"I promise."

"No."

Sherlock shut the door indecisively. Should he change out of his pyjamas into his normal attire? Strip down naked? He despised guessing games. He was getting annoyed at having to read her mind.

He got dressed into his trousers and shirt, and went back to the living room. He was typing away at his computer when she came out. She was dressed also, he noted. He stood up and strode over to her.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, deciding to devote his entire day to her.

"I just wanted to stay in with you," she replied as they embraced.

"Then why didn't you want me in the shower?"

"I needed to wash my hair, and ...women's things," she replied, smirking.

"Oh."

He frowned.

"You can tell me all about yesterday's case?" she suggested.

"I'll put the kettle on then."

He smiled and kissed her forehead.

They stayed in all Sunday, until late Sunday afternoon when Sherlock dashed out to the shops to pick up ingredients for a gourmet meal he was going to cook for Violet. She had challenged him by implying that he didn't care enough about her having once baked a soufflé for some royal cow, but hadn't made her anything decent in ages.

Violet was banned from the flat until dinner was ready. She spent the early evening chatting to Mrs Hudson, while amazing aromas stole their way downstairs.

Sherlock came down, calling her to dinner. He was wearing his jacket, and looked perfectly serene, not flushed or flustered or covered in grease. Mrs Hudson smiled at them both, feeling quite emotional.

The living room table was set for dinner. Sherlock secretly borrowed some of Mrs Hudson's dinnerware and napery. Sherlock poured Violet a glass of Bordeaux.

"Just one," he said. "Absolutely essential with English beef..."

He served an entree first: goat's cheese fritter with beetroot and apple purée, sour dough bread crisp, salad and grain mustard dressing, then for the main: fillet of English beef with a rocket purée, balsamic glazed roasted red onion, Roquefort cheese and chunky chips. Dessert was a microwaveable chocolate pudding.

"Well I didn't have time to make everything," he said.

Violet said she had to lie down between courses because she was so full. It didn't help that Sherlock lay down on top of her and preceded to make out with her on the couch at the same time.

Dinner took a while. The clean up took even longer. Sherlock had completely destroyed the kitchen in the process of preparing their three course meal. They spent the remainder of their night setting the kitchen right.

"That was incredible. How can you just do that without having studied the culinary arts?"

"Study? I told you, it's all there in those books. Why would they bother to publish them if no one could follow them?"

Violet grinned at him. _It's all about confidence with him I guess. If he should be able to do something then there's no reason why he would fail._

"Bedtime?" she asked. "Early night for me remember?"

"Mmm," he said, embracing her. "It's your turn to spoil me now."

* * *

Sherlock had a better strategy for the early wake-up this time. He woke Violet with plenty of time to give her an orgasm. She was much more pleasant then.

She sipped her coffee slowly, then checked the time on her phone.

"You haven't done your make-up," Sherlock commented over his coffee.

"The studio does it... which means I'd better go."

She stood up and stretched, still tired. Sherlock made his way over to her, and put his arms around her.

"Have you thought of what you're going to say if they do ask you anything about your personal life?"

"I've been coached," she replied. "I'll give you a special smile, if I'm thinking about you. How about that?"

"How can you give me a special smile?" he asked, perplexed.

"I'll look straight at the camera - you'll know it," she smiled enigmatically at him.

"What time are you on?"

"7:10."

"That's very specific."

"It has to be. Don't miss it! I have to shoot some scenes later, so I won't be back until this afternoon. Okay?"

He nodded, and they kissed.

"All right... bye!"

She left.

Sherlock showered, dressed, then turned the telly on while he opened his notebook and sat in his armchair by the fire.

Breakfast television. A whole new world.

* * *

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson's voice floated up the stairwell.

"I know!" he yelled back.

She came up anyway.

Kirsty Willeme finished her banter, spiced with innuendo with co-host, Damian Best by announcing, "And up next we talk to the lovely Violet Hunter who plays Christa on our favourite soap, Regency Road. Don't go away!"

Sherlock clenched and unclenched his hand out of nervousness for Violet.

"Oh, she does look lovely," Mrs Hudson commented as they showed a wide studio shot of the hosts chatting to Violet as they broke for the commercials.

Sherlock stood up and paced the room a bit, while Mrs Hudson cleared the coffee mugs from the living room table, humming to herself.

Sherlock felt ill. What if they upset Violet? On national TV. Would she cry? Would she call them all fuck nobs... her latest insult. He didn't feel this way when he watched her as Christa - she was obviously playing a character; reciting words already written for her and rehearsed, and re-shot if necessary. Here she would be Violet Hunter. His Violet. Vulnerable one minute, spitting Mancunian insults the next. Okay, there were moods in between, but he only wanted the good bits for himself. Now the rest of Britain would get to share Violet.

The commercial break finished.  
Sherlock sat down. Mrs Hudson stood behind him.

"Welcome back," Damian Best began. "Now having emerged on our screen as the tempestuous 17 year old, pregnant daughter of our Maggie off Regency Road, we say hello and welcome to the beautiful Violet Hunter."

"Thanks for having me," Violet smiled at them.

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson gasped at Violet's close-up. "She looks so pretty! I'm glad they did her make-up normally."

"Shhh!" hissed Sherlock fiercely.

He still had a knot in his stomach. But she did look beautiful. Nothing at all like Christa.

"Our pleasure," Damian continued. "Now when Christa burst onto the scene, there was a lot of yelling, and a few slaps with her mother, Maggie and other Regency Road characters. Let's have a look at those last three months..."

They cut to away to a handful of edits showing Christa yelling, crying, having tantrums, all while her abdomen grew. Sherlock tutted. They cut back to the studio. Violet and the hosts were having a bit of a laugh.

"A lot of yelling there!" commented Kirsty.

"Yes, there is a lot of yelling, and crying. It was quite a tense three months actually," Violet remarked.

"Now, you're not at all like Christa I can't help noticing," began Damian.

"I hope not," joked Violet. "Well, first off, she is quite young, only 17, and I've just turned 25..."

Sherlock's head spun.

_Just turned 25? Just? Did I miss her birthday? Because birthdays are quite special to most people aren't they?_ How didn't he know her age or birthdate? Because he thought the actual numbers were irrelevant.

"Obviously you're not from Manchester, then. Christa's manc accent is quite thick."

"No, London-born. I've spent a fair amount of time in Manchester though, and obviously with Maggie being Mancunian they needed her daughter to be as well."

"So what do we have in store for Christa? She's just about term now?" Kirsty asked, steering the conversation around to the show's storyline.

Violet spoke about the upcoming birth scenes, what it was like to wear the fake belly, and backstage jokes and pranks with the prop.

Sherlock breathed a bit easier, but he still shushed Mrs Hudson every time she made a comment.

They then cut away to scenes that were going to be aired that week - Christa giving birth.

"Did you do any research for those scenes?" Kirsty asked Violet.

"I spoke with Esme and Helene," Violet began.

"Oh, that's Granny Weatherby and Mrs Albright," Kirsty interrupted.

"Yes, they had some wonderful stories, beautiful stories really, about their birth experiences, and..."

"Ooh, Granny's getting on a bit," Damian commented.

"Stop interrupting!" Sherlock yelled at the TV screen.

"And how was Mitchell... he plays Shaun... did he manage the birth all right?" Kirsty asked.

"Well, he was amazing really. Shaun's there for Christa even though he doesn't know if it's his baby or not," Violet replied.

"It's not!" Sherlock stated.

"We don't know that yet," Mrs Hudson responded.

"Shhh!"

"Still, the relationship between Shaun and Christa seems to be developing. Any hints there?" Damian asked.

"I can't really say," Violet smirked. "They're still very young, and..."

"We'd love another Regency wedding, wouldn't we?" Kirsty looked round at the 'audience' which was the crew.

Violet smiled shyly.

"How about you then," Damian asked, "Does Violet Hunter have a special somebody? Someone to share in the nightlife with?"

Damian lightly touched her knee.

"Sorry, we had to ask!" he joked.

Kirsty laughed.

Violet's expression didn't change at all.

She replied pleasantly, "I'm far too busy to have a boyfriend...who'd put up with me?"

"Oh seriously!" Damian remarked.

Kirsty turned toward the camera and said, "Come on boys! Violet's available!"

Sherlock inwardly seethed.

They cut to a wide shot of the three of them on the couch.

"Yes, calling all British boys, the lovely Violet Hunter is single. You can apply at BrekkyTV dot com or our twitter!" Kirsty laughed.

Violet glanced at the camera too, and gave a small smile and a tiny wink that Sherlock almost missed.

"Thank you, Violet, hope to see more of you soon," Damian turned to her.

"Thanks so much," Violet smiled at him.

"And stay tuned for our..."

Sherlock clicked off the television set.

"Oh that's not nice," Mrs Hudson said, moving toward the kitchen. "Putting her on the spot like that."

"Don't worry Mrs Hudson. It's all fucking rubbish anyway," he stated, picking up his computer.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson scolded him for his language.

She left him, typing away on his notebook.

"Twitter dot com," he muttered.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Violet found Sherlock lying on his couch, back in his pyjamas.

"Hi!"

She breezed in, dropping her bag on the floor beside the coffee table, and sat next to his outstretched body. Sherlock let a deep breath out. She was here. This was his favourite part of the day. He opened his eyes as Violet bent down and kissed him. Sherlock's hands stole around her, keeping her there, so they could continue kissing for longer than the simple greeting Violet initially intended it to be.

Violet pulled away, eventually.

"Did you see my wink?" she asked mischievously.

"Was that for me?" he asked, struggling to sit up.

"Of course it was, who do you think?"

"Oh I don't know... hashtag Violet H B F."

He vigorously ran his hands through his hair.

"What?" Violet asked, confused.

"That twitter thing," he said, waving his hand at his notebook which was open on the coffee table.

"What twitter thing?" she asked.

Sherlock slid the computer over and started tapping away as Violet watched.

"There..." he said, "All these... guys, and a handful of girls too, I might add, are tweeting pictures of themselves with the hashtag 'Violet H' that's you, and 'B F', I don't know what that is."

"Boyfriend?" Violet said, peering at the screen.

"I spent all morning trying to decipher what a hashtag was - what precisely was its use and relevance in social networking circles," he said, standing up.

"A day well spent then," Violet muttered, peering at the screen.

Sherlock continued, walking over to the kitchen. "You should've received all these 'Mentions' on your twitter account... Tea?" he asked.

Violet frowned at the screen.

"I don't have a twitter account," she stated.

"Yes, you do," Sherlock said, filling up the kettle. "TheVioletHunter" with one of those 'at' symbols."

"That's not me," Violet said, feeling annoyed.

She clicked on the ' TheVioletHunter' link mentioned in one of the tweets, and viewed the profile, getting angrier.

"You've got over 500,000 followers," Sherlock informed her, while making the tea.

"Sherlock, it's not me," Violet said, becoming even more annoyed.

She started scanning the tweets...

"'_Thanks for your kind tweets re morning show. Love you all_' - fuckin' hell!"

"You don't swear on twitter," Sherlock stated.

"No, I'm swearing now! Who the fuck is doing this?"

She scrolled through more tweets...

"_'Having lunch with Matty. No we're just friends before you all go mad! #lunchhottie_'. For fuck's sake."

"I think you tweeted something about me before that one," he looked back at Violet and smirked.

"'_Best night ever in the company of a good friend #loveyou-S_'. Okay," Violet said, standing up and walking over to Sherlock. "Is this you?"

"No. I thought it was you?"

"No! Who is it then? It's obviously someone who knows what I'm up to ..."

Violet walked back to the computer and spent a few minutes in silence scrolling through the tweets. Sherlock brought her tea over and sat down beside her.

"It must be Alice. It has to be. These are all pretty boring tweets. Only Alice knows how boring I really am."

"You're not boring!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Violet sighed, and turned to Sherlock.

"Thank you," she said, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. "That's why I love you."

"How could you not know you're on twitter?"

"I don't know. Some of the cast mention it to me now and then. I just thought they were being sarcastic because I wasn't on. Their comments make sense now."

Violet frowned as she continued scrolling.

"Am I really this dull," she muttered.

"No, Alice is."

"I wonder why Mandi didn't say anything. She seems to know everything about me online...I should ring her. Then I should... maybe I should go home and have a little chat to Alice."

Violet stood up and pulled out her phone.

Sherlock looked up at Violet and frowned. He hoped it wasn't the same kind of little chat she had intended to have with Nora. John had filled Sherlock in on all the details of that little episode. It seemed like Violet existed in another world for a time. A world featuring her own bully boys. An underworld.

He suddenly felt very nervous.

"Violet, I'll come with you to see Alice."

She turned to look at Sherlock. She held up one finger as she listened into her phone.

"Mandi. Twitter. Does that mean anything to you?"

Violet listened for a bit. Sherlock stood up, and slowly paced around her, with his hands behind his back, listening.

"What do you mean you and Alice decided? ... What the fuck?"

Violet looked at Sherlock incredulously, as if he knew what was going on.

She continued, "You're not my fuckin' PR. Who said you were my..."

Sherlock thought, _here it comes - Mandi is going to get an earful._

"You had no fucking right! Delete it now... fucking take it down ... no I'm serious... I'll report it as fake then... What do you mean 'verified'? What the fuck does that mean? ... How did she do that? ... The fucking dyke! Give me the password, Mandi... Well, who's got the fucking password? ... Well ring Alice now... RING HER NOW!"

Violet ended the call.

"Right, all taken care of," she said in a suddenly calm voice.

"Good," said Sherlock. "That's... good."

Violet looked at him.

"Are you on Twitter?"

"No," he said through narrow eyes.

"Facebook?"

"No."

"Instagram?"

"No."

"Tumblr?"

"What?"

"Okay then. What does 'verified' mean?"

Violet sat back down on the couch. And sipped her tea, browsing the screen.

"It means your account has been verified as being genuine. You have a little blue tick," Sherlock answered, showing off his recently acquired knowledge of Twitter.

Violet's phone buzzed. She read the message, and scowled.

"The bitch is too scared to ring me. '_Alice won't give me the password and won't delete the account_' she wrote. What the fuck is wrong with her?!"

"Alice?" asked Sherlock, thinking back to the gossip Mandi had told him. "She's jealous of you."

"Is this one of your observational thingies?" Violet asked, scrolling through the twitter account some more.

"No, Mandi told me."

Violet looked up.

"She did?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Here," he said, sitting down next to her. "Let's hack the account."

"How can you do that?"

"Simple minds are easy to deduce. Now, you're her flat mate. What kinds of words would she usually use for a password? She doesn't seem too techno-savvy, so no random letters or numbers. She's literary, like you, so whole words then."

He looked at Violet expectantly.

She shrugged.

"Um, she once used her girlfriend's name, but when they broke up she changed it to some insulting name for her. And another time she use the name of another female actor she had a thing for."

"Okay, good," said Sherlock encouragingly. "Emotional ties to people. What form of insult would she use on you?"

"Insult?"

"Yes. She doesn't like you remember. What has she called you in the past? Did you ever fight?"

"Not really. She calls a lot of people 'retards' when they annoy her."

Sherlock tapped away.

"Nope," he said. "Anything else?"

"Well, most of her insults are people specific, but I've never heard her call me anything...oh, hang on. We both went for the same part once, and she called me 'Panto Princess'".

"Okay..." Sherlock tapped away. "Nope. Anything else?"

Violet thought for a while. "Well, once Mandi told me Alice called me vile Violet once, but that was a joke... I think."

"Vile Violet then... one word, no spaces, no caps."

Sherlock typed it in, and looked up at Violet triumphantly.

"No! Really?"

"So let's change it... no, we need the linked email account in case she clicks the forgotten password thingie. Ah, here it is. Is that yours?"

Sherlock indicated the email address on the screen.

"No, it's not. So she's made up an email account for me too. Excellent."

"So, let's assume she uses the same password for the email account then."

He tapped away on the keyboard and signed into Violet's bogus email account.

"Change password, change verification questions and... secondary email address. What's the name of your first puppy?"

Violet laughed.

"I never had a puppy."

"Fido it is then."

"Why do you know all about this, but you didn't know what a hashtag was?"

"Email has been around longer, and anyway, twitter is one of those social convention things I don't subscribe to... now ... change password... what do you want it to be?"

"You think of something."

Sherlock thought for a moment.

"Something of sentiment then..." he said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "SilverBlaze, but the e's are 3's and you're to use proper case, no spaces."

Violet grinned at him.

"And back to Twitter...same password. Okay? All done. It's all yours now."

"You're my hero!"

She kissed him on the cheek, stood up, then said, "I'd better go talk to Alice. Get this sorted."

"I'll come," Sherlock rose from the couch too.

"No, it's fine. You can't go there anyway."

"So," he narrowed his eyes at her, "Just you then?"

"Yes," she said, picking up her bag.

"No one else?"

"No...like who? You? Do you really want to come?"

"No, like... hired henchmen."

"What?" Violet didn't click. It seemed to be an obscure comment to her.

"Don't worry. That's fine," he said, brightening.

But Violet was suspicious.

"You don't just say things for no reason...Oh," she just realised. "Are you referring to Jake's guys?"

"Yes."

"John told you the Nora story then."

"A bit."

Violet raised her eyebrows at Sherlock.

"All of it then."

"You think I'm going to send someone round to sort Alice out?"

"Um, I think 'no' would be the correct answer there," Sherlock replied cautiously.

"Good. Because I'm done with running to Jake with my problems. Okay?"

"That's fine," Sherlock said quickly. Then he ventured, "So why does he always want to help you?"

"He just feels guilty. He wants my forgiveness, which I've given him, mostly."

"Forgiveness for?" Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted all of the details right now.

"Being an asshole?"

"That's a lot of favours for just general assholeness. I mean, I was called that at uni, and I don't run around paying my ex-... well, their rent and supplying them with henchmen."

"It's a long story, Sherlock. Not one I'm going to tell you with one foot out the door."

Sherlock looked at Violet impassively. He wondered if he'd ever know everything about her. And some days he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Violet made her way over to the door. "Okay. I'll be back later. Do you want me to grab dinner on the way back?"

"If you like."

She left, leaving Sherlock still in his jammies.

* * *

Sherlock paced nervously about his flat, his thoughts focussed on Violet's confrontation with Alice. He'd finally dressed and was in two minds about going to the lab or Gower Street. Finally he decided to text Violet.

SHERLOCK: [ How is everything? SH ]

.

VIOLET: [ Not good. Dad is coming round to pick up some stuff for me. Back later. x ]

.

Sherlock decided to ring her instead.

"Do you want me to come around?" he asked in a concerned voice.

"No," Violet replied in between tears. She sniffed. "Alice has gone out. She wanted me gone by the time she gets back. She was awful! Sherlock! Am I really horrid?"

She cried again.

"No, of course not. I'm coming over, okay?" Sherlock said gently, pulling on his coat.

"No don't, it's okay."

"I'm already on the street... right, I've got a cab - Gower Street please - I'll be there in a minute."

She hung up.

By the time Sherlock arrived, Violet had stopped crying and was packing a suitcase. She opened the door for him, and he enveloped her in his arms.

"I'm okay now," she sniffed. "I didn't realize she hated me so much."

She walked upstairs, and Sherlock followed.

"Okay, what are you bringing?" he asked, surveying the room.

"Nothing. Most of the furniture belongs here, and Dad's bringing some boxes round so I can pack my things to take to his place."

"Aren't you moving in with ... to Baker Street?"

"Sherlock, I can't! Not yet!"

Sherlock felt wounded. "Oh. All right."

He felt useless.

"Can you carry these down please?"

Violet indicated two full suitcases. Sherlock carried the cases down, silently fuming, and placed them near the front door. He then went back upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Violet said as he entered the room. "Dad's never offered for me to stay with him before. I think..." Violet blinked back tears. "I think this will be good for us. We still have a lot to... sort through. This whole thing about my mother... you know."

"Oh."

Sherlock felt like a heartless bastard. He never once asked her about the Copper Beeches thing since they'd been back together. He walked over to her, and hugged her.

"I'm sorry too. I never did ask you about that."

She smiled up at him. "It's okay. There's a lot we both didn't know about. This will be good."

She walked away from him, and sat on the bed.

"Look, you may as well go. I can't pack anything else until Dad brings the boxes. Unless...you want to meet him?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No," she replied a little too quickly.

Sherlock smiled faintly.

"It's not you," she said softly, and she patted the bed beside her, so that Sherlock would sit down. "He's never thought much about any of my boyfriends. I mean, look how they turned out."

Sherlock winced. "Can't he just meet me and work it out for himself?"

Violet squeezed his hand. "I'd like him to, eventually. But I think Dad and I need to mend our relationship first. Okay?"

She reached over and kissed him.

"I love you," she said.

Sherlock kissed her back.

"I love you, too," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face.

"And you're nothing like the others, by the way."

"I should hope not," he smiled wanly at her.

"Jake started out okay," Violet began, her voice faltering, "But then he started doing cocaine a bit more frequently than just recreationally."

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me this now," Sherlock whispered.

"I just...I just want you to understand why I care about him, when he was so abusive to me towards the end."

"Because you're a forgiving kind of person?"

"Because I wasn't such a good person myself when I was an addict. Sherlock, if you just knew..." She broke off crying, and Sherlock pulled her into his embrace, and gently rubbed her back.

"This was something Jake and I went through together, and we've come out the other side okay."

She sniffed, and wiped her eyes, determined not to cry again.

"Jake fell in love with me. He couldn't divorce his wife because her father's inheritance would only go to their son Andrew if they didn't divorce due to any infidelity on Jake's part. His wife always ignored him fucking around, but when she realised he was seeing someone more or less seriously, she...she threatened him with the will. So he wanted to end our relationship for the sake of Andrew, but... he didn't tell me all this. And, he couldn't stop seeing me. And.. and, when he's stressed he does coke... did coke, more often. Then he would just..."

Sherlock held Violet tightly, and kissed the top of her head, as she tried to regain her composure.

"He would just come over either drunk or high, and... we would just argue, and he would force..."

Violet stood up suddenly and walked over to her dresser.

"Anyway, I left him after a few months of this."

Her face hardened and she wiped away her tears.

"After I'd been back in London for a while, he visited me several times, always begging forgiveness. He'd been clean for a while, but I told him I'd never go back to him. We eventually mended our relationship enough to be friends... but that's all. Much later I got together with Nick, and he of course was always suspicious of the relationship I had with Jake. In his drunken paranoia he believed I was still fucking Jake."

She smiled then continued, "Jake was worried I'd struggle with money and end up back on the street, or back on heroin, so he always offered to help me financially. He'd only pay enough for rent though. Not enough to fund a drug habit."

Violet looked over at Sherlock expectantly. He felt he hadn't breathed throughout her entire story. He blinked, dismissing the slideshow of images that were running through his mind.

"Thank you for telling me," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He stood up, and Violet moved toward him.

"I'm just worried you'll change what you think of me," Violet said, her eyes glistening.

"Never," he replied, embracing her. "Don't ever worry about that."

What Violet had told Sherlock didn't really seem news to him. He'd always suspected her life with Jake was something along those lines. But it had pained him to hear her say it out loud. And no, it hadn't changed what he thought about her.

When Sherlock left that afternoon, he didn't realize just how difficult it was going to be to see Violet again that week. They sent a series of texts, but weren't available at the same time. And Violet didn't feel comfortable leaving her Dad's place in the evenings to go out and see Sherlock just yet.

By Thursday, Sherlock had a new case - in Northern Ireland. He tried to convince Violet to go with him, even just to join him there for the weekend, but she couldn't justify leaving London just yet. And she wouldn't meet him at the tube station before he left for the airport either.

With a heavy heart, he flew out of London.

* * *

Violet was jogging. Annoyingly, it was Sunday again. The streets around her Dad's flat were hilly, so more of a challenge. She was just getting started when she became aware of a car with blacked out windows following her. She was just about to sprint down a side alley when the car accelerated slightly in front of her, and the back door swung open.

"Looks like you could use a drink," a familiar voice said.

Violet froze.

_Jake? In London?_

With a sinking feeling she walked over to the car.

"You look out of shape," the voice continued. "I mean that in the nicest possible way. Get in. Quick before they call someone."

Reluctantly Violet climbed into the car. The car pulled away from the kerb. Violet looked over at Jake. He didn't look well, she observed. His face was drawn and haggard looking. His pupils: pinpoints.

"Are you using again?" she asked bluntly.

"What?" Jake replied incredulously. "Nice to see you too. What kind of question is that?"

"What are you doing in London?"

"What's with all the questions? What happened to hello?"

"You don't just show up in London, and pull me into an SUV with tinted windows, without a phone call or text saying 'Hi Violet, I'm in London, how about a coffee'. What's going on Jake?"

"Love you with the dark hair, by the way. It really shows off your eyes."

"Cut the bullshit!"

He laughed. "That's the Violet I know. Not this fuckin' celebrity untouchable shit you've got going on."

Violet looked at Jake for a moment.

"You're fucking high! You're fucking using again. Stop the fucking car!" Violet yelled at the driver.

"Violet. Violet." Jake said, putting his hand gently on her leg.

Violet took in several deep breaths. This wasn't happening. Not - happening.

"You know why I'm here," he said softly.

"No."

"You do. I've always admired you for your intelligence, so stop this fucking wank.

"You shouldn't be talking to me."

"But I am. So listen. This is not for me, this is for your boyfriend. Tell him to stop. Yeah? Just - stop."

"Stop what?"

"What he's working on."

"No. I can't."

Jake frowned at her.

"This is not me telling you this. Right? Violet, I can't help you. When this goes to shit, and it fuckin' will, right - I can't help you, or your boyfriend. So tell him to stop."

Violet looked straight ahead. She couldn't look at Jake right now. Whatever fuckin' paranoia he had going on in his coked-up world she didn't want to know about.

"Violet."

"I don't know what he's working on," she said simply.

"It doesn't matter. Just tell him."

Jake looked up into the rearview mirror at the driver and nodded slightly. The car gently pulled up at the kerb again.

"Why Jake?" Violet asked, her eyes glistening. "Why did you have to get high to see me?"

"Violet. I'm sorry."

"What's really going on?" she pleaded softly. "Jake?"

Violet slid over and put one hand up to his face.

"What happened?" she whispered.

Jake put one of his hands over Violet's and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I'm doing this for you," he whispered back. "And I can't fucking help you if you don't do this."

"Help me how?"

"This is not just me that's warning you, Violet. There are ..." he stopped.

"Who?"

Jake put his other hand behind Violet's neck and pulled her face closer to his. His lips brushed hers. Violet tensed, and turned her face, pushing him back with her hands on his chest.

"Jake, no."

Jake became incensed.

"Don't fuckin' 'Jake no' with me," he hissed, forcing her head back with his hand on her jaw. "You're fuckin' mine, Violet. You always have been."

He tried to kiss her again, but Violet lashed out and slapped him hard across his face, revulsion and anger rushing through her body.

_Not this again. It had been years. He can't fucking be like this again._

"Fuckin' whore," he muttered, grabbing her wrist, and placing his other hand around her throat. His eyes took on a wild look she had seen far too many times before. He pushed her down on the seat and leant over her.

There was a sickening familiarity about this, but as terrifying as it would've been to most, she knew she could handle him, if she remained calm. If she struggled, he would only get angrier, and it would only end up worse for her. She knew that from past experience.

With her free hand, she reached up and caressed his face. Jake loosened his grip around her throat a little.

"Don't spoil it," Violet whispered. "Everything you worked for... for us."

She continued stroking the side of Jake's face with her thumb, imploring him with her eyes. As the tension left his face, Violet gently pulled him toward her, and with a tilt of her head she parted her lips to receive his kiss. As he worked his mouth and lips and tongue on hers, his excitement mounting, Violet felt a shiver of horror at her betrayal of Sherlock and a feeling of repulsion for Jake. She closed her eyes, to prevent the tears that had welled up in them from escaping.

_I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry._


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **All right! I'm uploading this a day early, in case the flu which has struck down my family grabs me too, then you all would have to wait longer to be put out of your misery. My gift to you.

x

* * *

**Chapter 32**

Jake released the grip on Violet's other wrist, so she was able to bring that hand up to his face as well. She ended their kiss, gently lifting his face from hers.

"Please let me go, Jake."

"Violet," he whispered, not seeming to hear her. He bent his head and started kissing her neck, drifting one hand down her side, and edging up her t-shirt.

"Please Jake," she said, her voice remaining steady. She couldn't see the driver, but she knew he was there. Silent and tense, listening to everything that was going on.

Jake looked up and noticed her tears. He bent his head in realisation.

"I'm sorry, Violet," he breathed into her neck. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

He looked up at her again. "I'm so fuckin' sorry."

"Let me go," she whispered again.

Jake sat up, the wild look in his eyes replaced by shame and regret.

Violet slowly sat back up, ensuring she was positioned nearer the door than to Jake. Perfectly composed, she pulled her pony tail out, gathered her hair up again, twisting the elastic around once more as if she were merely making herself presentable to the world after some heavy snogging with her boyfriend.

Jake watched her, with the look of a small child waiting to be chastised by his parent.

Without looking at him, Violet silently opened the door and stepped out. She shut it before Jake could say anything. She walked off down the street for a few steps, then broke into a light jog without looking back.

The car slowly pulled away from the kerb.

* * *

Sherlock strutted as he left Aldershot House in Derry.

_It always pays to confirm the whereabouts of the butler_, he chuckled to himself. Now that was an unnecessarily long trip, but he had ended up solving two cases instead of one.

He had two hours to kill before catching his flight home to London.

_And to Violet._

He should ring her. He hoped she would be able to see him tonight - make some excuse to her father. It had been almost an entire week since they had seen each other. His whole body ached for her touch, her lips on his, the smooth feel of her skin upon his, gliding his hands over her curves, hear her gasp his name in ecstasy...

"Hello," she said, amiably enough as she answered.

"How are you?" Sherlock asked cordially.

Sherlock imagined her grinning in response to his attempt at social courtesies.

"I'm fine. I've just been for a jog," she replied, a distinct edge to her voice.

"So - I'm finished. Case solved," he announced, puffing out his chest, and eagerly awaiting Violet's enthusiastic praise.

"Great," she said, with less emotion than he was expecting. "When are you flying back?"

"Soon. I won't get in too late. Is there any chance..."

"Good," she cut in. "I'll be waiting for you. I think I'll head over to your place now. Maybe clean up a bit, do some filing or something."

Sherlock could detect a certain nervousness to her voice, which he chose to ignore for now, due to his rising excitement that he would get to see her at last.

"Good. I'll see you when I get there. You don't have to wear anything special," he added hopefully.

Violet didn't respond to his flirtation. Instead she said, "Great. See you then."

* * *

Sherlock lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling numb.

_Violet had kissed Jake._

Not the pillow talk he had expected after their rather passionate and practically wordless reunion.

She had already been crying, quite a lot he noticed, by the time he entered his flat earlier that night. He thought she was still upset at the whole Alice thing, and having to live with her Dad, and of course, Sherlock's absence. So he just held her, then they had kissed, resulting in their frantic tearing away of each other's clothes. They finished up in the bedroom. Violet was mostly silent throughout their whole love-making session.

Then she had told him about Jake's drive-by. His bizarre request to her, and to him, Sherlock, about his work. And then...the assault.

Sherlock was silent while his mind tried to process this information. In a matter of seconds, his brain had replayed the scene over and over. He tried to turn the facts over in his mind - examine them from every angle. And of course there was that unwavering confidence that everything Violet told him was the absolute truth. It had to be. But a sickening feeling bubbled up inside him at the same time: Violet was placed in that situation because of him, Sherlock, and she had been upset the whole afternoon, not at Jake's actions, but at how she imagined Sherlock would react. He hated that she was so scared of him, so insecure of his love for her.

Violet sat upright in bed, hugging her knees. Her tears had dried and she stared toward the end of the bed, at nothing in particular. She was listening to Sherlock's breathing beside her, waiting for his response. Eventually Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed at his boxers pulling them on as he stood up.

"I need..." he said, looking about the room for his cigarettes.

Violet slowly pulled the sheet up around her, and that tiny movement seemed to bring Sherlock out of his trance. He looked over at her, his insides in turmoil.

"Violet," he said eventually, walking around to her side of the bed. Violet looked up at him. He could see the fear in her eyes, which made him feel all the more sick inside. "Violet," he said gently, sitting down on the bed next to her. "Are you all right?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, gently reaching out and brushing her hair away from her face. His eyes flickered downwards to her neck, a faint bruise had formed on one side where Jake's thumb would have been.

Violet blinked back tears and nodded imperceptibly.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

Violet shook her head slightly. "No."

Then she trembled and more tears fell as she said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No," Sherlock whispered, leaning in to rest his forehead on hers. "Don't be sorry. You don't have anything to be sorry for. I love you. It will be all right. Nothing's going to happen - I won't let anything happen to you."

Inside Sherlock was seething.

_You're going to pay, Jake Venucci. You're going down with Moran. You just stepped up my efforts. But first I'm going to rip your fucking balls off._

* * *

Do you love him now? was what Sherlock wanted to ask Violet every time he looked at her and saw a vacant expression.

_You don't fucking own her. You don't get to exact that kind of pain on her. You don't get to take anything away from her._

If only the evidence he had against Jake was mounting at the same rate as his anger and hatred for him.

But on Jake, he had nothing.

He was clean.

An intelligent gangster.

Of course he would be intelligent. Why on earth would Violet have been with him otherwise? He couldn't picture her with a moron - someone of Sebastian Moran's low intellect. Yet Sherlock couldn't picture Venucci being the mastermind behind all of the organized crime that the N.O.C.A. was investigating. Intelligent - yes; the controlling brain of the underworld - no.

Sherlock looked over at Violet. She was curled up in her armchair by the fire, reading her script for the coming week. She had told her father that she was back with Sherlock and they were working things out. As simple as that. She would spend more (not all!) nights at Baker Street. And there didn't appear to be any paparazzi snooping around.

She only had three weeks of shooting left. She had been looking forward to that. And her news of the day was a rumor circulating that she was going to receive a nomination for Rising New Talent at the TELSAs. But all those things couldn't bring a sparkle to her eyes. Everything was tainted with that fucking Venucci assault.

"Stop pacing," Violet said softly.

"Mmm?" Sherlock asked, taking one hand out of his pocket to vigorously run through his hair. Pinched between two fingers of his other hand was an unlit cigarette.

Violet stood up, resting her script on the chair, and made her way over to Sherlock.

"What did he say, about the others?" he asked Violet, with piercing eyes.

Violet tried to remember Jake's actual words, more than his emotions at the time. Words were more important to Sherlock at this stage.

"He said something like, 'It's not just me who's warning you. There are...', then he..."

"Kissed you," Sherlock finished, waving his hand as if he could wave away the action of Violet and Jake kissing.

Sherlock continued pacing, muttering to himself, "'There are'... plural. So more than one. One is Moran, more than likely. The other, or others are..."

"Are you going to light that?"

Sherlock stopped, then observed the unlit cigarette in his own hand and said gently, "I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me?"

"By lighting up. I know that bothers you."

"You don't have to tiptoe around me Sherlock. I'm fine."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her.

"But why are you fine? The man almost raped you. He's done that before - I don't know how many times, and you're _-fine-_. How are you not fine with a friend tweeting on your behalf, or an overweight internet porn addict blogging about you picking up a stranger in a bar, or some poor half-wit of a publicist thinking your boyfriend runs a meth lab. You weren't fine with any of that, so how can you be fine with this!"

Sherlock struggled to keep his voice even, his eyes brimming with emotion.

"Because I am. Because he was high."

"STOP FUCKIN' DEFENDING HIM!"

Violet set her jaw firmly, and stared at Sherlock, her eyes unwavering.

"He was using again, because he was fearful about something. I forgive him."

Violet thought, if she showed Sherlock how she actually felt - broken, confused, hurt, betrayed, and violated - Sherlock would go fucking mental. She didn't know what he would do, but she was sure it was worse than this outburst. It would have something to do with confronting Jake. And she didn't want that. She couldn't predict what Jake, in his current state, would do to Sherlock. And Jake was afraid of something - of someone. She had to save both of them from each other.

"You forgive him," Sherlock repeated with a deadly calm. He turned away in disbelief, then walked toward the coffee table and stopped there, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. He bent over and picked up his lighter. Cupping his hand over the end of the cigarette, he lit it and inhaled.

_This isn't right,_ he thought, exhaling. His thoughts swirled around his head, like the smoke from his cigarette into the air of his living room. It's not fucking right. She didn't forgive him, Sherlock, when he had believed some fantasy about her, but this fucker can fucking try to fuck her...

He was incensed, but he couldn't think clearly. His emotions, they were distracting him. His usually cold, precise and balanced mind, was spilling over with feelings such as rage and jealousy. He had to think. He had to reset his mind before he planned his next move, in case it were an irrational one, one of passion, and not of reason.

There was only one person who could help him do that.

Violet stood near her chair with her arms folded, watching him.

"Sherlock, come to bed. It's late," she said softly.

"No, I'm..."

He held his cigarette between his lips as he moved over to the door, grabbing his coat.

"I'm going out," he finished, shrugging his coat on.

"What? Now? Where to?"

"To pay a visit to my brother, Mycroft."

* * *

Violet kept herself quite busy during the week. Her shooting schedule was fairly light, as the Regency Road writers were going to slowly give Christa less air time in preparation for her departure to Cornwall.

The show's young female stars were being sponsored by Hanna Perino Designs who were supplying them with gowns for the upcoming awards night. It was a thinly disguised gesture on the part of the studio to prevent the embarrassing fashion faux pas and costume malfunctions that had plagued the show's young stars in previous years - hence studio approved gowns.

Violet joined Chenoa and Regency Road stalwart Demetria on a trip to the designer's studios one afternoon to try on a handful of prototype gowns. That reminded Violet that she needed to organise something for Sherlock to wear. And this week just didn't seem the right time to interrupt Sherlock's train of thought with something so trivial as a new suit.

But the world still turned. The TELSAs were still happening, and Violet may even receive a nomination - to be officially announced tomorrow, Friday. So her ex-boyfriend tried to rape her and her current boyfriend was plotting to overthrow the entire British underworld in order to seek revenge, but hey, life goes on doesn't it? And she needed to look good on the red carpet, and so did her escort.

Violet was worried when Sherlock had left to visit Mycroft the other night, but he came home, slipping in between the sheets, curling his cold body, fresh from the evening air, round her warm, naked one, then making love to her as if he had just come back from a case.

He had eased her mind the next morning, telling her that he'd had a good chat with Mycroft, and now he could think with a clearer mind - one untarnished with negative emotions. In actual fact, Mycroft had reacted to Sherlock's news of his girlfriend being sexually assaulted by Jake Venucci with the same amount of mild irritation as one would have listening to a friend complaining about their neighbour yelling at their dog.

But Mycroft had listened all the same, and given Sherlock some good, if quite obvious advice: separate the case of Sebastian Moran and his underworld connections with the one of Jake assaulting Violet. Concentrate on the Moran case, and Jake will fall along with him.

Violet had told Sherlock she'd spend Thursday night back at her dad's place, then the weekend with Sherlock - that seemed fair. On the plus side, she had no scenes on Friday, so apart from a quick read-through that morning, she had most of Friday free - to spend with Sherlock.

And she was sure he had no cases... apart from the Moran one, that is.

"Hi!" she said as she entered Sherlock's living room late Friday morning.

Sherlock was lying stretched out on his couch once more, clad in pyjamas, cigarette between the fingers of one hand hanging limply off the couch. He had spent a lot of time on Thursday night researching the possible psychological effects on victims of sexual assault. He concluded that Violet was in denial.

"Can I open a window?" Violet asked Sherlock under the haze of cigarette smoke.

"Yes," he waved his cigarette hand vaguely.

"How are you?" Violet asked, after lifting the window sashes a little. Fresh air and traffic noises crept in through the openings.

Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Where's my kiss?" he complained.

"Ashtray," Violet remarked, holding out HRH's ashtray for him.

He sat up and yawned, rubbing his hair, tousling it all the more, then stubbed the cigarette out.

"No cases?"

"No," he sighed, thinking about his research. He patted the seat next to him.

Violet sat down and kissed him on the cheek before he had a chance to turn his head.

"I have something important to ask you," she asked brightly, hoping her mood would rub off on Sherlock.

"Mmm, you want me to buy a new suit for the awards night."

Violet looked at him suspiciously.

"You know, you do take the fun out of surprises don't you? I'd hate to have to get you a present."

Somewhere in the recesses of Sherlock's brain, another thought kicked in. Violet's 25th birthday that he had missed. When was it? How could he make it up to her? He'd have to store that thought for later.

"Well, how did you work that out?"

"You're holding a men's fashion magazine, and that show, Brekky TV, said the nominations for the TELSAs are coming out today, so that's obviously on your mind already, and you were looking at me with that expression which says the subject matter is of vital importance to you, but completely trivial to me. And you glanced up and down at my current attire."

"You watched Brekky TV this morning?"

"They were doing a top 5 of who's hot on British TV. You weren't on the list, sorry."

Violet laughed.

"Are you my number one fan?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Do I get a proper kiss?"

"Only if you'll let me take you to get fitted for a tux."

Sherlock frowned, but leant in for a kiss anyway. His arms stole around Violet, lest she try to give him only half a kiss. He'd been roused from his semi-sleep state on the couch intending something much more with Violet. Something that didn't involve clothes and needed way more than his tongue.

Violet broke away.

"Not yet. I want to organise getting you a tux."

"How can we go into the city? We'll be seen together," sulked Sherlock.

"Hmm, you're right. Well, I'll make an appointment for you, and you, mister, will go! Okay? Sometime next week? No disappearing to Leeds, or ... Munich, or somewhere."

Violet leaned over and pulled her bag over.

"Here," she said, navigating her ipad. "Have a look at these guys."

Sherlock frowned as he had to look at page after virtual page of celebrity males wearing tuxedos on many red carpets.

"Okay, I get the idea," he said irritably.

"Look, you can style your hair back like his," Violet said, pointing to the screen.

"Oh, God help me," Sherlock muttered, lying back down on the couch.

Violet put her ipad down on the coffee table and smirked at Sherlock, although he'd closed his eyes again. His brow was furrowed. She slid over closer to him, and started running her hands through his hair.

"Back like this," she whispered.

"Mmm."

"That okay?" she asked softly, removing her hand.

Sherlock waved his hand up at her and said, sleepily, "Keep doing that, that's nice."

Violet continued stroking his hair.

"I don't know why you're so tired when you haven't been working," she commented.

"I never feel tired by work. Idleness exhausts me completely."

"We'll just gel your hair back like this...well, if you won't have any input about how you look on the night, then can I just style you however? Let me have my way."

"I want you to have your way with me. Just not on the red carpet," he replied mischievously.

"Come on then," she whispered, then she rose from the couch. "I'm just not going to get any good conversation out of you until you wake up properly," she called back, already halfway through the kitchen before Sherlock's brain registered the invitation. He staggered up off the couch and padded through the kitchen to his room. Violet was waiting just in the doorway, looking annoyingly far too clothed.

"Why do you torment me like this?" Sherlock breathed, flicking his door shut and embracing her.

"Perhaps if you were waiting for me in bed naked, we could've dispensed with the preamble," Violet answered seductively, wrapping her arms around Sherlock.

"I'm good at dispensing," Sherlock murmured in her ear, edging her top up. "Let's dispense with this first."

Violet lifted her arms as Sherlock pulled her top up over her head, then dropped it to the floor. He leaned in closer, putting his arms to her back.

"And dispense with this," he whispered, unclasping her bra. It fell to the floor as Sherlock pulled Violet closer to him, gently caressing her bare back as they kissed some more.

"That's my phone," Violet pulled away, hearing the faint ringing of her phone from her bag in the living room.

"Can we leave it?" Sherlock breathed into her ear, pressing his pelvis against her.

"The nominations!"

Sherlock tutted, and was already through the door calling back, "I'll get it, since you're..." he waved his hand back.

Violet picked up her shirt and held it over her breasts, reasoning that such news should not be received half naked.

"I'll put her on," Sherlock was saying as he re-entered his room. He handed her the phone, frowning as he took in her half-hearted attempt at modesty. Sherlock started undressing despite Violet's phone call.

"Hello?" she said, tentatively. She glowered at Sherlock getting naked in front of her and turned her back.

"Oh!" she breathed out, listening. "I'm... that's so...I just don't know why! ... Thank you! ... No, I'm just stunned... it'll sink in soon. Okay, thanks for ringing. - Bye!"

She turned around to Sherlock, now fully naked and in bed, but with the sheet pulled up around his waist, looking up at her expectantly.

"Yes," she said faintly, tears forming in her eyes. "I've been nominated."

Feeling quite embarrassed, she sat down on the bed next to Sherlock, placing her phone on the bedside table. "Twice."

"Twice?" Sherlock repeated.

"Yes. Rising New Talent and Best Dramatic Scene."

"Best Dramatic Scene?"

"For Christa finding out that her brother had died."

"Congratulations," he said sincerely. Then, grinning, he pulled her in for a kiss, tenderly at first, but with a hint that he was expecting more. Much, much more.

Violet pulled away again.

"I have to... um..."

She picked up her phone again, but seeing Sherlock's shoulders droop ever so slightly, she hastily added, "No, I don't. In fact, I'll just turn it off."

Sherlock's face brightened a little. Violet stood up, discarding her top, and giving Sherlock a meaningful look, she edged her skirt and underwear downwards, letting them drop to the floor. He made no attempt to hide his appreciation for her form, as he let his eyes take in her every curve, the rise and fall of her breasts, narrow waist and her slimline hips. And Violet watched him scanning her, and gave him a sly smile. Sherlock remained motionless as she gently pulled the sheet down, and climbed on top of him. Her warm thighs cradled his, and Sherlock helped her readjust her position by placing his hands on her hips.

Sherlock pulled Violet down towards him, whispering, "Congratulations," before her lips were on his. Soft and warm, lips parted slightly, tongue darting between teeth.

"Mmm," Violet murmured, as Sherlock caressed her back, his touch sending shivers along her bare skin. "Sherlock," she whispered in his ear, then she kissed along his neck, and seductively slid her body over his until he was fully aroused.

_How does she do this to me? Every time._ Sherlock could think of nothing else - lost in the moment, the whole world, its problems, its challenges, all ceased to exist. Only he and Violet were all that mattered.

They were hungry for each other now, their taste, and scent, and touch, sending ripples of excitement throughout their bodies.

"On your back," Sherlock whispered, as he embraced Violet, rolling to his side, then pushing her down next to him. He kissed all along her neck, while gliding one of his hands along her torso, up to her chest, taking in her breasts, then back down again.

"Sherlock," Violet moaned, grasping his hand and guiding it down between her legs.

"Oh, God, yes," she gasped, arching her back as he worked his long, elegant fingers against her.

_He's so_...she fought for the words... _how does he do this so._.. But her words were lost as her mind focused instead on his touch, her body trembling in response to his rhythm.

Violet reached down and took Sherlock in hand. He breathed out, then encouraged her efforts by gently rubbing against her.

"Mmm," he murmured in appreciation._ Stay like this, stay here, forever._

His mouth and tongue worked their way along Violet's yearning body. She was poised on the edge, ready for release, but they had to get there as one, so she gently moved Sherlock's hand away.

"Now," she begged, "Now, Sherlock!"

He moved up, needing no more encouragement, as Violet opened her legs to receive him, tilting her pelvis slightly. Sherlock breathed into her neck as he guided himself into her, groaning with satisfaction and longing.

"Oh Violet, yes!" he panted, starting slowly at first, teasing himself, feeling her beneath him, encouraging him, pulling at him.

He supported himself on his elbows, so he could look into her face. He wanted to see her eyes, hungry for him, vulnerable, reflecting her desperate longing as his were. He kissed her neck as he rocked into her. She started making the first sounds of her final arousal.

"Violet, Violet," he whispered encouragingly, grinding his pelvis against her to bring her to the edge again.

He watched as her brow creased, she tilted her head up and parted her lips as if in pain. She arched her back, as the first waves of ecstasy hit her.

"Sher-lock, yes! Yes..." she gasped, pulling him in harder. He thrust deeper and faster, riding out her orgasm with her as his own excitement teetered on the edge.

"Fuck, fuck...oh God...Violet!"

That's all it took every time. Seeing her giving herself over to him completely. Her climax bringing him to his own.

Their breathing slowed down in tandem as Sherlock leant his head on Violet's shoulder. He turned his head and kissed her.

"I love you," he said, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "Thank you," she added, smiling shyly and kissing him again on his lips.

Sherlock rolled off her, and lay down beside her, breathing lightly. Then he sat up briefly, pulled the sheet up over them, and lay back down again turning onto his side. Violet rolled over too, so they were facing one another.

He grinned at her, and she returned his sentiment by caressing his face. Sherlock edged closer, so he could feel her breath on him, and he closed his eyes, enjoying her light touch.

"Sherlock," she whispered.

"Mmm?"

"I never asked you if it was all right," she continued in hush tones.

"What?" he queried, opening his eyes again.

"Being with me, publicly. Being photographed and written about, whether truthfully or not. I haven't asked you if you minded."

Sherlock thought about her statements, the cogs of his brain slowly shifting into gear. The last remnants of nicotine having vacated his brain cells earlier, he was going to have to come up with an answer the old fashioned way.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I don't know what it's going to be like."

He rolled onto to his back, and shifted up a little in order to prop his head up on a pillow. Violet snuggled in closer to him, resting her head in its familiar position on Sherlock's chest, as he put one arm around her.

"Avoiding the press is different to embracing them head on - that huge, black, pulsating mass of cameras, all shouting to get you to turn their way, scrutinizing your every move..."

"Sounds like you know it then."

"I've seen it, although mostly standing outside a court house when a notorious criminal is finally convicted. I imagine it's much the same for you celebrity types." He paused for a moment. "Let's just see how it goes, hmm?"

"If it all gets too much, I'll... I'll give it all away. I'd rather not have it." She looked up at him. "I just want you."

Sherlock smiled back down at her. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

He brushed the top of her head, then ran his hands through Violet's hair a little more methodically.

"Hey," he said, "You've lost your extension thingies."

Violet sat up, and arranged her hair about her shoulders.

"Yes, it's like Christa had her hair trimmed. She's a practical mum now," Violet finished, smirking.

"It's feels much better," Sherlock remarked, running his hands through it again. "I still detest the colour, though."

"Not long to go now," Violet said as she lay back down. "I've only got three days of shooting next week, and two the week after. Then I'll get rid of the black."

"And then what will you do?"

"The talent agency knows when I'll be available. They're looking into a few things for me."

"What talent agency?"

Violet looked up at Sherlock from his chest.

"The one I signed up with towards the end of Rose's War. Oh, we weren't together then. That was big news for me that day," she added sadly.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock lamented, brushing his hands through her hair again. "I seemed to have missed a few special days."

"It doesn't matter now," Violet smiled up at him.

"No it doesn't," Sherlock replied, cupping Violet's face in his hand. _We have the rest of our lives to fill with special days._


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

"That looks really lovely on you. Doesn't it?" Violet looked at the slim man's shorter partner for confirmation. The latter looked embarrassed, cleared his throat and replied, "Uh, yeah."

The man trying on the tuxedo glowered at his partner, while Rene, the fitter, ran his hand along the line of the jacket.

"Mmm, it will do nicely," Rene said with a flourish. Then he turned to Violet and Matt and said, "I'll be with you in a moment, as soon as I've finished with these gentlemen."

Then he did a double-take as he recognized the Regency Road pair. He swiftly flapped his hands about, and an assistant scurried over to offer Violet and Matt a seat and a cup of tea.

"I'm fine for the moment," Violet remained standing, regarding the man that Rene was tutting over.

"You're quite slim, you know. You may want to try that one," she suggested, pointing to the far wall.

Sherlock turned and frowned at her, as John hurried over to the hangers.

"Ah, yes," John said more confidently than when Violet had first arrived. He addressed Rene, "Can we try that one?"

Violet smirked, then winked at Sherlock, before joining Matt on the lounge.

"So how do we get in?" Violet whispered to Matt, as he sipped his tea.

"Just give a nod to one of the security guys at the bottom of the stairs, and let them know you're there for my 21st."

"So I say 'Matt's 21st' do I? You don't have an alias?" she asked facetiously.

Matt grinned back at Violet.

"They all know me there. London's worst kept secret."

"Oh, I don't know. You still have a legion of 14 year old fangirls who don't know you're gay."

He laughed. "Hey, thanks for coming anyway, even if it is all a bit cloak and dagger. So, he's coming?" Matt subtly indicated Sherlock.

"Yeah, still working on that. Sherlock's never been to a gay bar before."

"He and his boyfriend look very domestic," Matt joked, looking over at Sherlock and John as they argued over the type of socks that were acceptable to wear with a tux.

Violet laughed, feeling slightly guilty at roping John in to accompany Sherlock to his fitting. She thought it the only way to ensure Sherlock made the appointment, and John saw it as a great opportunity to get Sherlock's measurements for ordering his best man's tux - something he could never get Sherlock to do himself. Violet had also booked the timeslot immediately afterwards for Matt, so she would be on the premises to have the final say on what Sherlock was going to wear to the TELSAs.

The pair finished their bickering and were just finalizing measurements with Rene, as the assistant started measuring Matt.

"Uh, bye," waved John as they walked past, "Love the show by the way. Can I have your autograph?"

"John," commanded Sherlock as he waited at the door. John briskly walked off after him, grinning at Violet as they left.

Violet's phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ That was painful. ]

.  
VIOLET: [ You looked very handsome, you gorgeous gorgeous man! x ]  
.

Violet waited while Matt was sized for a suit, eventually accepting an offer of tea. She sent a few texts to Mandi. They had spent a bit of time together over the last couple of weeks, trash-talking Alice over coffee. Her latest text was interrupted by a phone call. Violet listened intently, then quickly walked over to a far wall for some privacy.

She couldn't believe it!

She had to tell someone ... Matt! But he was with Rene. Violet quickly dialled Sherlock. He was less enthusiastic about her news, but he thought it meant something to her and spoke the appropriate congratulatory words.

"Matt!" she called out, when Rene left to find another design. "I've just been asked to read for the part of the 18 year old Catherine Hilderness!"

"No! Fuckin' hell, Violet! Damien Oakeshott!"

"I know!"

Matt hugged her appreciatively.

Violet breathed out._ A Damien Oakeshott project._

* * *

"Why is he having two 21sts?" Sherlock scowled at the thought of Violet spending two of their precious weekend nights out and about. She had already spent most of the week at her dad's place. Violet said that was because he, Sherlock, was working on a case and she wanted him to stay focused. Sherlock thought she really wanted to get away from the pointed looks he was giving her. As for the case, he'd solved it on Thursday, just in time for the weekend. And now this. He thought back to the previous weekend. They had spent most of that in and out of bed, snuggling, having hushed conversations, ordering in, then doing a load of laundry together. Very romantic. And not a whisper of that Jake incident.

"Because the official one is on Saturday night with all his soap stars and other celebs," Violet answered. "But his partner and real friends want to have a private party the night before. It will be special for him."

"But why do you have to go to both?" Sherlock asked, feeling annoyed. He finished washing the dishes and turned to face Violet who was putting the plates away.

"Because I'm both - his co-star _and_ a special friend. So..."

"And you want me to go to the gay bar."

Violet grinned. "Our first invitation out as my date."

"To a secret party."

"Yes! Where everyone will be discreet. What's one more secret among many. It'll be fun! I'll do a special dance for you!" Violet remarked enticingly.

Sherlock caught her in an embrace, whispering in her ear, "It's only special when I'm the only one watching, in the privacy of my bedroom, and I get to have you afterwards."

"Can we just go for a couple of drinks? Please?" she asked, leaning into him and strategically applying pressure to Sherlock's groin in order for him to understand just what type of reward he would receive should he comply with her wishes.

Sherlock sighed. He still thought Violet was in denial, and was doing everything she could to keep distracted. "All right, just a couple, and then home, okay?"

"Yay! You can wear your grey coat!"

Violet hurried upstairs to get changed. She had slowly started bringing her possessions back to Baker Street, storing them in her old room upstairs.

Sherlock sank into his armchair, retrieving his notebook from the floor. She'll be hours, he thought, opening it.

Sherlock was back to working on email cases - the Moran case going nowhere. It was the sort of case that could conceivably take years. It _had_ taken years, at least it had for the N.O.C.A. But the lull in the case had given Sherlock and Violet some breathing space. Sherlock was still trying to fathom Violet's reaction to the whole incident. He noticed there were times she would just go quiet and still, as if thinking about it. Then subconsciously, her arms would steal across her chest - she'd cross her arms, and if standing and leaning, or sitting, her ankles would cross too. A defensive position. Then her face would harden, and she would imperceptibly shrug as if to dismiss the thought, then resume whatever she was doing previously, like washing the dishes.

There were a couple of these moments when Sherlock would walk over to her, take her in his arms, effectively breaking down her barrier, and she would wrap her arms around him, returning his tight embrace wordlessly, as if to thank him for recognising her moment of insecurity.

"Sherlock! Why aren't you ready!" Violet strolled in looking breathtaking in a short, sequinned white dress, in contrast to her dark hair which was swept up in a loose up-do, what seemed like minutes later, but was actually an hour and a half. "Hurry up! I bet you haven't even showered!"

Sherlock gaped at her as she rushed into his bedroom. He swallowed, then tutted, and dragged himself out of the comfort of his armchair. He showered briefly, then wrapping himself in his towel, he made his way out to his bedroom. He looked in horror at the clothes Violet had laid out for him on his bed. Violet had called through the bathroom door earlier, "I've bought you a shirt - it's on your bed." But this was more than a shirt. Yes, she had purchased a t-shirt for him - _a t-shirt!_ He wears those to bed! But she had obviously been through his closet because a pair of tight-fitting black jeans lay there too. He had once acquired those, a while ago now, for a case - never intending for them to see the light of day again.

"Oh, good," Violet remarked, upon re-entering his room. "Do you like it?" she asked, holding up the shirt."

No," he stated, walking over to his bureau and opening a drawer. He pulled out a fresh pair of boxers, dropped his towel, and preceded to put them on.

Violet ignored him.

"And you had some boots somewhere..." she said, more to herself, as she opened Sherlock's closet again.

"I'm not wearing any of that," he muttered, reaching past her and grabbing one of his button-up shirts from the hangers.

"No," Violet said gently, guiding the shirt back to the closet.

"Violet."

"Sherlock."

He glared at her - his eyes of steel grey, used to penetrating the visages of the most hardened of police sergeants and getting them to allow him to examine a closed crime scene once again; or his look would silence a particularly obnoxious detective inspector about to launch into a tirade of abuse at some liberties Sherlock had taken during a case. But this firm expression was directed at his girlfriend who wanted him to wear a t-shirt and jeans against his will.

It wasn't working.

"It's these," Violet indicated the clothes on the bed, "or it's no sex for a week."

Sherlock wasn't one for idle threats, but he thought two could play that game.

"It's this," he indicated his shirt hanging up in the closet, "or no sex for _two_ weeks."

"Fine," said Violet coolly, making her way out of his room. "Let's see how far that gets you."

"It's one size too small," he commented five minutes later.

"I know," Violet smirked.

He glared at her, then pulled the shirt over his head. Violet helped him adjust it, then ran her hands over his chest, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

"And now the jeans," she said, holding them out.

"They never fit properly. They're too tight. They irritate my skin," he complained.

"Just..." _stop the whining_, she thought irritably.

He put them on reluctantly, grimacing as he was doing up the fly.

"Oh, my," Violet murmured, eyeing Sherlock lustfully. Then she grabbed the pair of black boots she'd found in the back of his closet.

"And that completes your outfit."

Sherlock said nothing as he put the boots on.

_How the fuck did this happen?_

Violet disappeared into the bathroom for a minute.

"Now, let's try slicking your hair back," she said, re-emerging, wielding a brush and a tube of something sticky in her hand.

"No!" Sherlock ducked out of her way. "Nope. Not putting product in my hair."

"Oh, why not? It'll highlight your cheekbones," she laughed, descending on him again.

"Violet, no!" he said vehemently, and strode out of his bedroom. "Why do my cheekbones need highlighting?" he yelled from the safety of his living room. He grabbed his grey coat from the back of the door and pulled it on as Violet entered the room, sans hair product.

"Just a different look," she said, smirking.

"You want me to have highlighted cheekbones and tight-fitting jeans in a room full of gay men. No thank you. Ready? Then let's go," he motioned to the door. Putting himself as far away from his flat and the hair product seemed the best strategy for the moment.

"How do you want me to act?" Sherlock asked earnestly, as the taxi sped threw the darkened streets.

"Just be yourself," Violet replied, clutching his hand and squeezing.

Sherlock regarded her suspiciously for a moment. "You've never said that before, and you've dressed me as someone else. How am I supposed to be myself?"

"Well, let's just see how that works for you."

Sherlock scowled, thinking that Violet was up to something.

But Violet wasn't up to anything. She was just deliriously happy at being able to go out somewhere with Sherlock - dressing up and going out on the town, like grown-ups. Not sneaking into each other's flats like teenagers.

And she wanted to have some fun dressing Sherlock differently too. She allowed herself the pleasure of letting her eyes drift over him.

"No," he said, in response to her giving him the once over. "There isn't any room in these jeans to react to that kind of nonsense. You're just going to have to wait until we're back home again. Anyway, why in this day and age does a young man have to pretend he's straight? That's a very 20th Century way of thinking."

"Because his parents don't know - well at least his dad doesn't, or pretends he doesn't or something. I don't know."

The rest of the taxi ride was in relative silence - Sherlock just seeking confirmation on exactly when would be an acceptable time to leave.

Sherlock frowned as he recognised the part of the city in which the club was situated. Not the kind of place he would voluntarily bring Violet, but then again it was a secret party, one hidden from the prying eyes of the mainstream public - the public that Sherlock and Violet were trying to avoid for now. It was less like a club, and more like a warehouse, at least from outside appearances. Inside, however, it was throbbing - no other word for it. And Sherlock should've realised back in the taxi that Violet giving him the once over was the least of his worries. His grip on Violet's hand tightened as she lead him through the pulsating crowd.

At last they reached their destination: the birthday boy. Matt practically screamed at the sight of Violet - a most unbecoming of screams, and definitely not one Sherlock would've imagined passing through the lips of Regency Road's mechanic.

"Matt, Sherlock. Sherlock, Matt."

Violet's introduction almost seemed unnecessary - Sherlock having recognised Matt from the show and from Kabuki's dance floor, and Matt having recognised Sherlock from the tuxedo fitting. But Violet seemed thrilled to be able to introduce her boyfriend to somebody at last, and both men appreciated that fact.

Until Matt kissed Sherlock, that is.

Sherlock had forced himself to utter the sentiment fit for the occasion: "Happy birthday," and uncharacteristically stuck out his hand for a handshake. Whereas Matt cocked his head to the side, and smirked, as if to say, "That's not how you say Happy Birthday around here" then pulled Sherlock in for a hug, kissing him on the cheek. Sherlock froze, but nobody noticed. Matt had already turned to hurriedly introduce Violet to his boyfriend Nathan, as the two already embraced. Nathan then apparently read Sherlock's signals and returned the handshake when they were introduced.

"Help yourself to the bar," Nathan shouted into Sherlock's ear. "And look out for the fags. They won't care that you're here with that slut from Regency Road. They'll just notice how you've filled out your jeans!"

Sherlock tore his head back from Nathan's words, then noticed the smirk on his face. Nathan winked, then disappeared into the crowd.

"Drink?" Violet was asking as Sherlock was still trying to orient himself.

"Are we drinking?" Sherlock sought confirmation from Violet, but realised the only way he could get through the next hour was if he were under the influence of something.

"One or two?"

He nodded in agreement. She smiled broadly, then grabbed his hand, leading him over to the bar.

"Don't worry, I won't abandon you. I don't know anyone either, except for Matt."

"At least you won't have to worry about anyone picking you up," Sherlock replied, distastefully. "When are we leaving again?"

"It's bad manners to leave before the cake comes out. And anyway, you should see it..."

"Ah, don't tell me - it's in the shape of a penis."

"He's a mechanic," Violet shot back, "So it's in the shape of a spanner."

"Bit surprising, given this crowd," commented Sherlock.

Violet smirked, then leant in, whispering, "A spanner-shaped penis!"

Sherlock scowled, as Violet turned and ordered their drinks.

Sherlock took a deep breath in and out, then scanned the room. He had to readjust his thinking because his ability to read people with just one look was giving him the same result wherever he glanced.

_Gay._

_Gay._

_Gay._

Violet handed him his drink, which he practically downed one swig.

"Hey, slow down," she warned.

"Violet Hunter!" someone over Sherlock's shoulder remarked.

Violet smiled politely in recognition.

"Autograph?" the fan requested, handing Violet an eyeliner pen, and turning his back on her so she could sign his shirt. The guy who identified himself as Jackson was facing Sherlock. He looked the detective up and down, rather slowly, as if enjoying the show. Sherlock felt extremely uncomfortable, his brow creasing with every passing second.

_Just be yourself,_ Violet had advised him. _See how that works out for you._

Jackson unconsciously licked his lips as Sherlock met his gaze with his characteristic cold, unemotional eyes. Jackson's own gaze faltered, then he muttered thanks to Violet over his shoulder and scurried away.

Sherlock had finished his drink, and signalled Violet to see if she wanted another.

_One of us is going home drunk tonight, _thought Sherlock. _I think it's going to be me._

Violet tapped him as he had turned his back on her to order.

"Is there any chance you're going to dance with me tonight?" she yelled into his ear.

Sherlock shook his head, so Violet kissed him on the cheek then asked, "Do you mind if I dance with Matt? He's waving me onto the dance floor."

"Go ahead," he answered, slightly disappointed. "I might escape outside for a smoke in a second, that all right?"

Violet made a point of looking unimpressed but nodded in agreement. She reached up and kissed him on the lips. Sherlock felt vaguely self-conscious in the crowded club, but soon realised everyone was busy enjoying themselves. He returned Violet's kiss ever so briefly.

He watched as Violet made her way through the dance floor, and joined Matt and Nathan and a few others. Sherlock noticed the side door other smokers were disappearing through, clutching single cigarettes or whole packets. Out of habit, he patted his coat pocket, checking his own stash was there.

_Good_.

He ordered his drink, then quickly gupled it down, watching Violet on the dance floor for a little while. It wasn't slow, seductive music this time - just repetitive, high tempo, throb music. It seemed the only way to 'dance' was to jump. Sherlock frowned, then turned and headed towards the smokers' exit. There was a bouncer at the door, who nodded at Sherlock as he exited into the lane way.

Sherlock ignored the other smokers huddled together a few metres away from the door. He lit up, and slowly walked along the lane. His mind kicked into gear automatically as he observed the multitude of 'evidence' left behind by previous clubbers - cigarette butts, chewing gum packets, condom wrappers, bottles, a belt, a sock. He could see where someone had been belted against the brick wall, and another area where a previous group of smokers had stood chatting away. A whole laneway of the same sort of incidents being played out each weekend - someone getting smashed, two somebodies getting laid, a group of someone's having a fix.

Sherlock leant against a wall - checking it first for dried blood or other bodily fluids. The dull thud of the music inside pulsated through the laneway. The nicotine did its job - his mind became sharper, his senses honed. Now to think...

Violet. Jake.

Of course Venucci had committed a crime at last: sexual assault. And all the evidence was washed away probably. They only had Violet's word for it. Sherlock didn't even think it worth the trouble to get Violet to contemplate pressing charges against Jake. He wouldn't even go there. She wouldn't do that to Jake. And Mycroft had removed any trace of Violet's seedy background. A court case such as this would dredge everything back up again - a relationship with an underworld figure, a history of drug abuse.

No, there had to be another way to get at Jake.

At Moran.

Sherlock dropped his cigarette and trod on it, making his way back inside the club. Just as he walked through the doorway, a young man, with eager, wild eyes put his hands on Sherlock's chest to stop him.

"Oh! I nearly missed you! Here! Happy rolling, honey!" he thrust a small pink pill into Sherlock's hand, then squeezed past him, to exit into the alleyway, calling out enthusiastically to the group still outside.

Sherlock inspected the pill in his hand.

_Methylenedioxy-methamphetamine. MDMA. Ecstacy._

_Great. They're just handing them out._

Sherlock shoved the pill into his pocket.

_Violet_, he thought.

He spied her, standing by the bar, with a drink in her hand, talking animatedly with a couple - a male and a female. They were laughing, but no one was hugging unnecessarily, Sherlock was relieved to see. He caught her eye, and she waved him over.

"You were a while!" she yelled into his ear, as she drew him into a hug.

"How are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and inspecting hers.

"I'm fine!" she laughed, arching one eyebrow. "Did you think I took one? I'm just a little drunk I think."

"So am I," he remarked, leaning in closer. "Could we go somewhere quieter... like.. I don't know... home?"

She laughed again, then took him by the hand to a darkened corner of the room.

"Just wait here - I'll get you another drink?"

Sherlock nodded, then surveyed the dance floor again. He felt completely out of place.

_Gay._

_Gay._

_Gay,_ he thought, not really making any progress on his ability to read beyond the obvious tonight.

_Oh, not gay,_ he thought, observing a man chatting up Violet at the bar. He watched for a moment, saw Violet smile, then make her way back to him with a couple of drinks.

"I think I'm past my limit," she said sadly. "You're going to have to take care of me tonight."

Sherlock grinned at her. "Not a problem."

* * *

_Ow, ow, ow,_ thought Violet in time to the dull hammering in her head. She opened her eyes with a familiar realisation: _I don't remember what happened last night._

The first object she observed was Sherlock's wooden drawers. Then Violet felt her own attire or lack of under the sheets. Naked. And, yep, penetrated. _Feels like I've been fucked every which way, _she mused.

She rolled over onto her other side to check the rest of the bed. Sherlock's naked back.

All was right with the world. Everything was in its place.

Violet shifted over to Sherlock's side of the bed, and pressed her naked body against his. She kissed the back of his neck.

"Mmmm," he murmured sleepily.

"I don't remember what happened last night," Violet whispered.

She heard a low rumbling of Sherlock's laugh. It almost sounded evil. He attempted to roll onto his back, so Violet shifted a little to allow him to.

"And why are you still in bed at..." Violet sat up and eyed the clock on the bedside table, "...10:52? You're normally up by now."

"Hangover," Sherlock said, with a wince. "You're fault."

Sherlock snaked his arm around Violet, in order to pull her in for a cuddle. Violet lay down with her head on his chest. "I don't remember, don't blame me."

Sherlock made that evil chuckle again. "Oh, you were so... naughty last night."

Violet sat up again and looked at him crossly."You're being mean. And you obviously took advantage of me!" she remarked sulkily.

"I think I was the one taken advantage of last night," he smirked. "You really like my jeans," he added mischievously.

"That's not fair, Sherlock! I missed out!" Violet looked around the room for the aforementioned jeans. "Where are our clothes?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, out there somewhere," Sherlock answered, lazily waving his hand toward the door. "We didn't quite make it into the bedroom the first time." He chuckled again. "Violet Hunter," he whispered, pulling her down again.

"What did I do?" she asked, resignedly.

"Well, you made out with me in the dark corner of the club, then tried to have your way with me in a toilet cubicle again. Luckily it was time for cake so you didn't get past putting your hand down my jeans - not that there was any room for that, I might add."

"And how was the cake?"

"Disgusting."

"And then what happened?"

"And then I finally convinced you you'd have a better chance with me if we were able to leave - which we did, when you were in danger of getting punched by Nathan."

Violet was horrified. "Nathan? Why?"

"Because Matt kept wanting you to have one last dance with him."

"And weren't you jealous?"

"Of a gay man? No."

"Matt is bi, you know," Violet stated, smirking.

"Oh. You didn't think to tell me that earlier?"

"You didn't work that out from just one look?"

"His tongue in my ear kind of threw me."

It was Violet's turn to chuckle now. "Tell me more... when did I get naughty?"

"In a minute. I need to go to the bathroom."

Sherlock shrugged Violet off and entered his ensuite.

"I have to do this all again tonight," Violet shouted through the door.

"What!?" Sherlock yelled, flushing the toilet and washing his hands.

He came out as Violet pushed past him. "My turn."

"You're not seriously going out again?" he called through the door.

"Yes!" she called back.

Sherlock tutted, then grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door, and made his way into the kitchen. When Violet came out, showered and feeling slightly fresher, Sherlock had prepared two tall glasses of Berocca and lay out two paracetamol tablets for Violet. He had also gathered up the clothes they had strewn about the flat in their haste to undress the night before.

"So tell me," Sherlock began, handing Violet her drink, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "now that you're sober and have no memory of last night: is it a fantasy of yours to have sex with me in an alleyway?"

Violet almost choked on her drink.

"What?" she asked, smiling sheepishly, and wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

Sherlock grinned at her. Violet put her drink down and slowly approached Sherlock. "Well, I did enjoy the London Underground, despite the creepy ending. I better not have missed out on having you in a darkened alleyway, Sherlock Holmes," she added seductively, putting her arms around him.

"Almost," he whispered, pinning her closer. "I was able to dissuade you."

"Why?"

"I didn't see how I could navigate the jeans and the boots without getting completely naked. So I convinced you to walk a bit further so we could get a cab home."

"Can you put the jeans and the boots back on now?" Violet whispered in his ear.

"No."

"Please?"

"I won't be able to zip them up with this," he murmured, pressing his hardness against her.

"Then leave it undone," she replied suggestively. "Come on," she beckoned, taking his hand and leading him back to his bedroom. "I want something to remember last night by."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

"Can you let me in?" Violet pleaded into her phone.

"Not if you're drunk," Sherlock replied.

"I'm not. I've had one drink only. Please? I don't want to go home if you're not there."

Sherlock pictured Violet standing outside the emergency entrance to St. Bart's, dressed in nightclub clothes, at 1am.

"Okay, just stay near the doors. I'll be coming from the side."

He ended the call. He sighed. He still had three more substances to identify, and the previous two had taken at least 45 minutes each. He couldn't leave now. His Saturday night had just got interesting. He left the sterile sanctity of the lab, grabbing his coat from the stand and ignoring the stare of Molly, who was assisting him this evening. She'd obviously heard his side of the conversation.

He footsteps echoed along the corridors of the silent wing of Pathology in St Bartholomew's hospital. Sherlock's fingers twitched as he thought that walking outside to meet Violet would also be a good excuse for a cigarette. He exited the building and walked the long brick side wall of the building, retrieving his pack from his coat pocket. He rounded the corner and almost collided with Violet.

"Hi!" she said, throwing her arms around him. He quickly returned her kiss.

"Not good, Violet. I'm working," he scolded her, pulling the lighter from his pocket.

"I haven't seen you work at the lab before. Can't I have one look, please?"

"None of this business, okay?" he said, gently removing her arms. "Any silliness and I'm sending you home in a taxi, alone."

"Okay," she replied in a small voice.

Sherlock lit up, and dragged on his cigarette while Violet crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Whatever happened to your nicotine patches?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I associate a kind of raw desperateness with cigarettes. A feeling of despair when you weren't in my life."

"But I'm in your life now."

"I know. And every time I light up it reminds me not to take you for granted," he smirked.

"That's a load of bullshit, and you know it."

"I'll give up tomorrow."

Violet raised an eyebrow at him, and shook her head. She turned around, watching people coming and going, an unknown amount of trauma and sorrow in their lives. She shivered and rubbed her arms for warmth.

"Here." Sherlock draped his coat around her, already warm from his body heat. And it smelt like him. She leant back into him, as his arms enveloped her. He'd discarded the cigarette, and pressed his lips against her cheek.

"Ready? Just behave, remember."

Sherlock grabbed her hand and led her to a side entrance into St. Bart's. He swiped his security card, and pulled the door open, ushering Violet inside. They walked down a maze of corridors until they finally reached the lab Sherlock was working in.

Sherlock swiped his card once more and they entered the small lab. A young woman in a white coat, with her hair pulled up in a pony tail looked up in surprise. Violet recognized her as the same woman who had let Sherlock use one of the smaller labs months ago, when they were taking their blood samples.

"Oh, hello," she said, glancing between Sherlock and Violet.

"Hi," said Violet, taking off Sherlock's coat and hanging it on the stand near the door.

"Result in yet, Molly?" Sherlock asked, without looking at her.

"Um, no."

"I'm Violet," Violet said, offering her hand to Molly.

"Yes, I know. I'm Molly," Molly replied nervously. "We met last year, but you look darker now - I mean your hair..."

"Molly," Sherlock warned.

"I'll just sit over here, out of your way," Violet whispered, making her way over to the back of the lab, and perching on a stool. She looked about her as Sherlock and Molly continued their work. Violet observed Molly stealing glances at Sherlock now and then.

Violet signed on to Twitter on her phone, and trawled through the images her co-stars had been tweeting from Matt's official 21st.

"Don't," Sherlock commanded.

Violet looked up at Molly. Molly was still looking at her work.

"Don't what?" Violet asked.

"You were about to ask a question. Don't." Sherlock stated, looking down into a microscope.

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. I could hear you thinking."

"You can't hear me thinking."

"I can and it's irritating."

At this point Molly looked up, fascinated with the exchange that was taking place - not unlike similar exchanges she had witnessed between Sherlock and John Watson.

"You can't hear what I'm fucking thinking. That's a load of wank, Sherlock."

Molly's mouth fell open.

Sherlock, still peering into the microscope, said, "Violet."

"Fucking lunatic," Violet muttered under her breath and resumed her twitter-stalking.

Molly looked from one to the other, wondering how on earth Sherlock Holmes ended up with this... this girl from the gutter. One who'd obviously just come from a nightclub, and Sherlock had to ask if she was drunk! Molly couldn't see the connection. But then again, she could never raise any interest in Sherlock herself, so obviously she was quite far removed from being his 'type', she lamented.

Molly looked back at Violet, who was tapping away on her phone and smirking at something. _Bimbo_, Molly thought. It pained her to think Sherlock could find this attractive. Molly shook her head and continued working.

After a while Violet yawned, stood up and stretched. Molly observed Sherlock as he ran his eyes down Violet's body, her midriff showing as she extended her arms - her small top parting from her low-slung tight-fitting jeans. Molly sighed. God, he's like every other male.

"Why don't you go get a snack?" Sherlock suggested to Violet. "There's a machine out in the corridor."

"Sure," Violet replied, grabbing her bag. "What would you like?" she asked Sherlock seductively. "Crisps?"

"No," he answered watching her move slowly and purposefully toward him.

"Nuts?"

"No."

Molly looked up, wondering what on earth she was witnessing.

"Peppermints?"

She was upon him now. Sherlock gazed up at Violet expectantly, a smile forming on his lips.

"No."

"Fruit loops?"

"They don't dispense fruit loops in the vending machine," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Dispense," whispered Violet, bending down toward Sherlock. He tilted his face up to meet hers. Violet pressed her lips against Sherlock's, and quickly darted her tongue between his teeth. He returned her kiss but then stiffened when he remembered where they were. She pulled away from him and straightened up.

"Pity," remarked Violet, walking past him to the door. "Would you like anything, Molly?"

"Um, no thanks," Molly replied, finding her voice and feeling completely uncomfortable with what she had just witnessed.

The door shut with a hiss and a bang, followed by the sound of Violet's heels echoing along the corridor.

"She's ... um ... rather lovely," Molly commented.

"Molly, don't feel as though you need to make conversation. It's not really your area."

"So, how did you two... er.. get together?"

"Molly."

"Because she seems so different from you. I mean she's beautiful, and you're... that's not to say you're not... I mean..."

"Molly."

"You're more of an intellectual, and she's..."

Sherlock looked up, narrowing his eyes at Molly. "Stupid?"

"No," Molly faltered, feeling intimidated now that Sherlock was gazing at her. Sherlock very rarely looked upon Molly. Normally he would bark orders at her, occasionally calling her 'John'. And those times he did look her in the eyes, he was usually asking for a favour.

She continued, "I just think..."

But the sound of Violet's impossibly high heels returning along the corridor made her pause. There was a soft knock at the door. "I'll just..." Molly got up, moving toward the door. She opened it, letting Violet in as Sherlock turned back to his work.

"Chocolate!" Violet exclaimed, holding up several bars. She plonked one on Molly's desk, stating, "Great for energy, increases concentration, it contains a small amount of caffeine, and..." she walked over to Sherlock, placing one in front if him, "...increases serotonin levels in the brain: a substitute for sex," she added pointedly.

She returned to her stool, while Sherlock glared at her. Violet ignored him and tapped away at her phone again with one hand, while eating the chocolate bar with the other.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock's computer began to beep.

"Excellent," he remarked, shifting samples around.

Molly strolled over. "Oh, good," she said. "Mine's nearly finished too. That will leave one more."

"Why don't you go home, Molly," Sherlock said gently. Violet looked up as he spoke, noting the tenderness in his voice. "I'll finish up."

"Thanks, I will," Molly replied feeling relieved. She took her lab coat off, hanging it on the stand near the door, then grabbed her jacket. "Well, goodnight then," she said, looking hopefully at Sherlock who had already turned back to his work.

"Goodnight," Violet offered, smiling at Molly. "Do you have a car nearby?"

"Just in the car park out the back. It's not far," she replied opening the door.

"Um... Sherlock should walk you... Sherlock?"

"What? Oh!" he tutted. "She'll be fine," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"I'll be fine," Molly said awkwardly, then she hastily retreated.

"No, Sherlock!" Violet reprimanded him, striding over to his workbench. She pulled at his sleeve. "Go! Walk Molly to her car!"

Sherlock stood up, glaring at Violet. "Don't touch anything!"

He stormed off, grabbing at his coat on the way.

Molly walked just ahead of Sherlock. She didn't want to engage him in conversation, not that he was ever obliging anyway. She felt completely uncomfortable in his presence now. She had always been attracted to him and tried to flirt with him in her own way. But part of that attraction was the fact that he was so aloof, unattainable, not available - not for anyone, not just her. She had tried to convince herself it wasn't that he didn't find Molly attractive, it was just because he was practically asexual, and didn't have those kind of lusty cravings for anyone.

But tonight she had witnessed that Sherlock was a red-blooded male just like anyone. And he wasn't attracted to her.

"My car's just under the lamppost there. You can stop here," Molly said over her shoulder. "Thanks, goodnight!"

"Goodnight Molly," Sherlock replied.

Molly glanced back at him as she unlocked her car door. Sherlock was standing at the edge of the carpark, lighting up a cigarette. With a heavy heart, Molly turned the ignition on and slowly drove out of the car park. Looking in her rear view mirror she saw Sherlock slowly walking back toward the building, dragging on his cigarette.

Sherlock sighed. He still had a good hour or two of work. He really needed Violet to go home. She was too distracting.

When he returned Violet was standing near his workstation, watching the monitor.

"Fascinating!" she remarked. "What's it doing?"

"Violet!" Sherlock snapped, shrugging out of his coat, and hanging it on the stand.

"What?" Violet took in Sherlock's mood.

He said slowly, moving toward her, "I'm trying to work here! This is important!"

"I know!" she said, defensively. "I've been quiet the whole time."

"Why are you here?"

"Because... I told you why."

"Why?" he asked again.

"Because the party was boring, and I wanted to be with you," she said, walking toward him.

"But I'm at work."

"I know, can't I watch?"

"Look, I'm not your pet dog doing tricks to amuse you. This is important to me."

Violet looked wounded. "I don't think of you like that..."

Sherlock strode past her, and sat back down at the workstation, his back to her.

"Did Jake take you on little excursions to watch him smash someone's face into a brick wall? Was that fascinating for you?"

The silence that followed gave Sherlock the realization that he'd gone too far. He turned around just in time to see the door click shut, and hear Violet's hurried footsteps down the corridor.

Sherlock sighed, and hung his head. Then he stood up, grabbed his coat and left the lab after Violet. She'd only made it a little way down the corridor before realizing she didn't know which door to go through.

"Violet," Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry, that was..."

"Just don't, okay?" she was already choking back tears. "Just tell me which fucking door to take, so I can get out of here!"

"I'll take you home," he said gently.

"No," she croaked. "You've got work to do. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have come." She turned her back on him, but Sherlock embraced her from behind anyway.

"We'll go home together. I shouldn't have made that comment about Jake. It was stupid."

"I hate him," Violet whispered.

"Shhh, it's okay. Let's go..."

She turned to Sherlock and looked up at him pleadingly. "I hate him! I FUCKIN' HATE HIM!"

Violet clenched her fists and angrily blinked back tears. Sherlock saw an opportunity. He placed his hands on Violet's arms and said, "We could have him charged with sexual assault..."

Violet looked appalled. "What?! No... what are you saying?"

"Violet, he sexually assaulted you."

"No he didn't. He kissed me..."

"That's still sexual assault. It was non-consensual touching of a sexual nature..."

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Violet moved away out of Sherlock's grasp. "He loves me," she gasped, turning away from Sherlock. She held her hands up to her face. "He loves me, and he's sorry," she whispered.

_Back to square one,_ Sherlock thought. _Back to square fucking one._

"Violet, let's go home," he said gently, moving toward her.

Violet suddenly turned and buried her face into Sherlock's chest, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her. She needed to cry about the assault. She needed to recognise it for what it was.

"I love him, Sherlock. I have to help him. You understand, don't you?"

Sherlock froze, feeling revolted again. It was the 'caring' sort of love she was referring to wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

* * *

"Finished?" Violet looked up at Sherlock. She forced a smile from her tear-stained face - her eyes slightly puffing from a night's worth of crying.

"All done," Sherlock smiled warmly back at her, and sat down on the bed beside her. He leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. "Can I get you anything?"

"Tea bags?"

"Tea bags?" he repeated.

"Yes, for my eyes. Or cucumbers."

"Oh."

"I feel like an idiot."

Sherlock felt very tired, having brought Violet home from the lab at about three in the morning, sitting up with her while she cried, then leaving for the lab again, once she had fallen asleep around four. He'd spent another couple of hours there, then picked up breakfast on his way. Violet was still asleep when he got home, so he left her to it, until about ten.

"Yes, you are an idiot sometimes. No, don't look at me like that. Practically everybody is."

"I should've come home after the party."

"No, I was grumpy. On any other night I would've had my way with you on the stainless steel benches."

"Sherlock!"

He grinned at her.

"Might not have gone down well with Molly in the lab at the time," she joked. When Sherlock didn't react, Violet continued, "She likes you, you know."

Sherlock shrugged. "Molly? She's quite competent at her job. And eager to please. I think you scared her though."

"Do I scare you?"

"Yes."

"Do you worry about me?"

"All the time."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do. You know I do."

"Good."

"May I go now?" Sherlock asked, straightening up.

"Where are you going?"

"To prepare your breakfast, before I leave for Manchester."

"What?" Violet said, frowning and sitting up.

"I have a case."

"But..." Violet began, feeling slightly panicky.

"Not the Moran case. This is the Case of the Disappearing Coin Collection. Or something equally mundane. A friend of a friend of John's. I'm obligated to check it out. An estate just out of Manchester."

"Can I come?" Violet asked, looking down, steeling herself for disappointment.

"Would you like to?" Sherlock asked, his grey eyes sparkling with desire.

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course. I'd be lost without my personal assistant!"

* * *

Sherlock checked the train schedule to Manchester, then emailed his client so somebody could meet them at the station to drive them the two hours out of the city for the house at Fairbank.

"Don't forget I need to be back by Tuesday for my reading," Violet called from the couch.

"We should be back Monday, if I've made my deductions correctly."

"Really? Is this another one of your 'solved before you get there' cases?"

"Well, it's obvious, really. I only require a few missing links before I have an entirely connected case. Here, have a read."

Sherlock carried his notebook over to the couch where Violet was lying.

"I can't read at the moment," Violet stated, waving one hand about.

"Oh," Sherlock realized, taking in the image of Violet lying back, eyes closed, with a cucumber slice placed delicately over each eye.

"I'll read it to you then. Move over."

Violet bent her knees so Sherlock could sit at one end of the couch.

"I'll skip over the irrelevant bits."

"Then how am I supposed to try to figure it out myself if you only tell me the bits that you think are important?"

"Okay, you can read it yourself on the train. I'm going to pack. We've got 90 minutes before we have to be at Paddington. Your eyes look fine, by the way."

"Thank you," Violet replied, sitting up. "I'll bring my gel pack eye thing that Mandi got me for my birthday."

She made her way over to the kitchen to throw away the cucumber slices. Sherlock froze where he stood by the living room table.

_Birthday._

Should he ask? Or just surreptitiously find out?

The latter. He'd need to dig into her purse for her I.D. Now where was her bag? In his bedroom, on the floor, near the chair. He looked at her. She was pouring herself a glass of water from the tap. She saw him watching her.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just... are you going to pack now?"

"I'm going to have a shower. That okay?"

"Good. Yep. Good. That's fine," he said quickly, picking up a piece of paper and glancing at it... upside down.

Violet walked away, looking at him, mildly suspecting something. He heard the bathroom door click shut, then raced into the bedroom. He spied her bag on the floor, then grabbed it, throwing a quick glance in the direction of the bathroom door. Hearing the shower turn on, he turned his attention to the contents of Violet's bag.

Ah, her purse. He opened it, eyeing the assortment of bank cards, gift cards, store cards and at last, her license. He pulled it out from its slot. She was blonde whenever the photo was taken. Birthdate... The 2nd of February. Sherlock breathed out. Good. They weren't together then.

He still wanted to make up for it though - do something special. He returned Violet's license to its slot and went to close the purse, but it wouldn't fold properly. A piece of cardboard, or so it seemed, stuck out slightly into the fold so that the clasp wouldn't catch. Sherlock pulled it out. He noted it was a Polaroid, folded in half, very ratty looking. Curiously he unfolded the photo.

It was a picture of two very emaciated looking girls, the fair-haired one holding a cigarette, the other darker-haired girl leaning in and holding two fingers up behind the first girl's head - classic bunny ears pose. They were both grinning stupidly. At the bottom of the photo someone had scrawled, "Lettie and Em x." Sherlock peered closer at the fair-haired girl, probably 'Lettie' - Violet. He could just make out it was her. She was very thin though. He smiled to himself. _Sentiment_. He returned the photo to the folds of Violet's purse, and dropped the purse back into her bag.

He stood up, thinking.

_What could I do for her birthday? I've already cooked for her. _

_Dinner at a restaurant plus a show? _

_Already done that. Dull._

_Romantic stay in a cottage?_

_Done._

Sherlock grinned as an idea formed in his mind.

She was a simple girl. She had simple tastes.

* * *

"My God, this is dull," Violet remarked, looking up from Sherlock's notebook.

"Mmm," Sherlock agreed, lying stretched out on the seat across from Violet in their private compartment. He was trying to have a power nap during the train journey to Manchester, at Violet's insistence, since he hadn't slept for over 24 hours. "So, who do you think?"

"So, it wasn't the son then?"

"Clearly."

"Because he's already in police custody and why would they call on you if they already had the thief."

"Good."

Violet thought for a minute.

"The father's friend who borrowed the money."

"Interesting," Sherlock commented, without opening his eyes. "Why would he steal his own coin collection?"

"Insurance scam?"

"They weren't insured."

"Well, where does it say that?" Violet asked, feeling slightly annoyed.

"It was one of the first questions I emailed back. You have to read the whole thread."

Violet was silent while she read the conversations back and forth between Sherlock and Alexander Holder of the banking firm Holder & Stevenson. But it was a private matter that had prompted Mr Holder to seek Sherlock's assistance.

Holder had been asked by a friend of his to loan him a considerable sum of money, and in exchange Holder was given his rare coin and banknote collection to keep by way of collateral. The coins and banknotes were locked up in Holder's personal bureau. But on Friday night, his son, Anthony, was caught red-handed holding a bag containing the coins. The banknotes were missing.

_Hmm_, thought Violet. _Mr Holder, his son, Anthony, two daughters - Kate and Sara, a maid, groomsmen, a family friend..._

"It was the younger daughter, Sara," Violet concluded, closing the lid of Sherlock's notebook.

Sherlock sat up and narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you work that out?"

"It's easy," she stated smugly, "You know my methods - you tell me."

"You cheated."

"Exactly. You asked far too many questions about Sara. It's obvious you suspect her."

Sherlock scowled, and ran his hands vigorously through his hair. "But what facts do I need to clear up in order to conclude beyond a doubt that it was Sara?"

"I don't know. But you trying to interrogate a promiscuous 19 year old girl - I want ring side seats for that!"


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

"Oh my God! You're Christa!"

Sara, a petite, sandy-haired young woman, covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide in astonishment. Her father, Alexander Holder, and sister, Kate, looked on at her, barely concealing their embarrassment at her sudden exclamation.

"This is Mr Holmes' personal assistant," Holder established, his face turning a ruddy complexion.

"It's okay, Mr Holder. I _am_ an actor on a TV soap..." Violet began.

"Why on earth would you bring an actress out here, Holmes?" Holder turned to Sherlock.

"Ms Hunter is my personal assistant," Sherlock stated simply.

Violet continued, "I've always been Sherlock's part-time assistant, even before I was on TV. It's a job I've loathed to give up, although I don't usually get time to travel with him until now."

"Oh my God, Christa's leaving the show! You don't sound like Christa though?" Sara said looking puzzled.

Sherlock turned to Holder and said rather business-like, "I trust we can rely on you and your family's discretion as much as you can rely on ours?"

"Of course, of course. Kate?" Holder commanded. Kate seemed to understand it was her duty to rope in her younger sister.

"Come on Sara. Let's get the tea things shall we?"

"That's Lucy's job," Sara sulked as she followed her older sister out of the room.

"Lucy's making up the rooms," Kate retorted.

"Now, I expect you may like to refreshen up before we get started?" Holder directed his question at Sherlock.

"No, no, not at all, Mr Holder. I'm keen to have a look around immediately," Sherlock replied, his eyes sparkling.

_Not a hint of tiredness,_ Violet noted. He didn't even sleep on the train. She, on the other hand, was busting to go to the loo. Sherlock was all for the work. Violet felt uncomfortable. It was all so stuffy in here. So posh. So Victorian. Sherlock seemed to play the part well. _Ms Hunter_ he had called her.

"We'll start with my study," Holder suggested.

"Pardon me," Violet interrupted, adopting her own posh tone. _This_ _will be good practice for reading the Catherine Hilderness part_, she thought. "May I use the bathroom?"

Both men looked at Violet as if she had just grown horns.

"Of course, down the corridor, turn left, then the second door on the right," Holder replied.

"Thanks, don't wait - I'll catch up!" Violet called back, dropping her poshness out of spite for Sherlock giving her a dirty look.

She walked down the corridor, noting the artwork along the walls. She found the bathroom, thinking_ this is bigger than my bedroom_. Upon finishing, she wondered how she was going to find Holder's study. It was a very large house, and she figured it wouldn't be courteous for her to wander about looking for it herself. Fortunately, she bumped into Lucy the maid. They had already met when Violet and Sherlock had first arrived.

"Oh, good," Violet exclaimed.

"May I help you, Miss?"

"Yes, I'm looking for the study. Mr Holder and Sher... Mr Holmes were on their way there," Violet replied.

"And should you be joining them there?" Lucy asked suspiciously. "They may be conducting business."

"Yes, that's why we're here," Violet remarked, slightly annoyed.

"I can take you to Miss Kate and Miss Sara. They're taking tea in the drawing room."

"No thank you."

Lucy looked confused.

"To the study, please," Violet asked politely.

With a huff, Lucy took off down the hall. Violet walked briskly in order to keep up with her. They took two flights of stairs, turned down a couple more corridors, then stopped outside a room in which they could hear male voices inside. Lucy tentatively knocked.

"Enter," Holder commanded.

Lucy opened the door and announced, "Ms Hunter, sir."

She moved to one side to allow Violet to enter.

"Thank you, Lucy," Violet called back.

Lucy closed the door on Violet. Holder turned back to Sherlock, ignoring Violet.

"Is there anything which is unclear, Mr Holmes?"

"No, thank you. I think Ms Hunter and I may examine this room further, and then we will make our way around the grounds if that's all right. And I may want to interview your staff later this evening. Please make sure they are available."

"Very good. I will take my leave then. Have Lucy call for me if you require any further assistance." Looking at Violet, he remarked, "Tea is being served in the drawing room."

"Lovely," Violet commented.

Holder nodded at Sherlock, then he turned and left.

Violet breathed out. She wanted to curse, very badly.

"You all right?" Sherlock asked, smirking at her. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

"I'm fine. I'm just not sure which century we've landed in."

Sherlock grinned. "We won't have to stay long. I have something for you to do though. Something more suitable to your station in life," he added, his eyes twinkling.

"I haven't uttered a cuss word since we got here, Mr Holmes. Don't make me start now," Violet replied sweetly.

"Gossip," he said. "Idle gossip. I need to know who little sister Sara is currently fucking. You can find that out can't you?"

"It's tea time for me, then?"

"Of course. You go back down, and I'll have a look around outside. Meet me in my room at about five. Okay?"

"Your room? We have separate rooms?"

"Yes. And not only do we have separate rooms, but yours is on another floor. Closer to the servant's quarters." He smirked at her.

"You're fuckin' shitting me!" Violet hissed.

"Run along," Sherlock waved his hand at Violet, grinning. He was clearly enjoying this.

* * *

Violet lay on Mr Holmes' bed, naked, waiting for him to return from having a glass of port and a cigar with that huge jolly wanker, Mr Alexander Holder.

Violet stretched out under the sheets, admiring the four poster bed Sherlock had scored. His room was enormous: it had its own fireplace, an ensuite, a separate study, a comfy chair by the fire, as well as a wardrobe and set of drawers. Her room had a single bed, a wardrobe, a hard-backed wooden chair, and she had to use the bathroom down the hallway.

_Not fair_, she thought. _But it's a good thing Mr Holmes is fucking his assistant, otherwise I'd put in a complaint._

Sherlock breezed in.

"I fucking hate cigars!" he exclaimed, heading into his ensuite. Violet heard the sound of him brushing his teeth.

"Dinner was lovely," Violet commented as Sherlock re-entered the room. "I think Sara was flirting with you."

"She was. I was doing my best to ignore her."

"I thought you were doing that because you were a man who had business to talk about, and she was just a silly little girl."

"Yeah, that too. Now..." Sherlock's eyes rested on the outline of Violet's body under the flimsy white sheet. "Are you naked under there?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

_Goodness, he could be a little slow at times._

"Why do you think, Mr Holmes?"

"We're working. Come on, get out, get dressed."

"What?"

"You're my assistant, so assist me. Come on. We haven't got much time."

"I'd rather assist your penis," she replied seductively.

"Violet," he strode over to the bed, and pulled the covers down, revealing Violet's nude form. Without reacting in any way at the vision which lay before him he commanded, "Out, now. Get warm clothes on."

Silently Violet rose from the bed as Sherlock looked out the window.

"We don't have much time. The moon will peak out from behind the clouds soon."

"Ooooh, is that when the werewolves come out?"

"Can you just be serious for once?"

"No. Cannot," Violet replied sullenly, pulling her robe on. Violet then spoke with an acquired cockney accent. "Me warm clothes, sir, are in me room. Should I run down an' grab me coat an' meet ye' somewhere?"

Sherlock glared at her.

"Meet me at the bottom of the stairs," he said, humourlessly. "And bring your phone."

"Ain't got no phones in the nine'een 'undreds, sir!" Violet called back as she left the room.

* * *

"So, exit through the side door, take the path nearest the house, go through the wooden gate, then pace up and down the gate, but don't go further than two metres from the house. Ring me when you're at the gate."

"And you'll be?"

"Trying to see if you're visible from the parlor window. Go now, before there's too much light."

Violet sighed, and did what she was instructed to do.

Back in Sherlock's room, Violet had taken to lolling about on Sherlock's bed again. She had her robe on over her pyjamas, though, not expecting to get lucky - not at the frenetic rate Sherlock was pacing.

"Right, since you didn't get her lover's name this afternoon, you're going to have to accompany her into the city tomorrow for her shopping spree."

"Fine. All she wanted to do was to talk about the show."

"That's good, but you have two hours in the car, so steer the conversation around to you, Violet Hunter, the celebrity. Confide in her with something personal. Just make it up. Let her think you're her confidante. I need the name. I suspect it's her brother's wealthy friend George Burnwell. If it is, then he has the missing banknotes in his possession, or pawned them for cash."

"Why do you think it's George?"

"Because he visits frequently. Weekend stays. And Sara is barely allowed out without her sister escorting her. Burnwell is a bit of a playboy, plus he has a bad gambling habit. Sara's hormones are all over the shop."

"Talk me through it. I don't get the gate thing." Violet closed her eyes. She loved it when Sherlock explained cases to her in his deep, soothing voice. If only he'd cease the pacing tonight though; that wasn't conducive to relaxing.

She was lucky.

Sherlock strolled over to the bed, and lay down beside Violet. She shuffled over and lay with her head on his chest, hoping Sherlock would stroke her hair.

He obliged.

Fortunately Sherlock also enjoyed showing off.

"You already know this part - Holder had told his three children about the coin and banknote collection. You read that his son Anthony expressed a doubt that the bureau was a secure place in which to hide the collection as it had been a childhood game of theirs to find random keys about the house and fit them to their father's bureau. Anthony as well as his best friend Burnwell both had gambling debts. Anthony was found holding a bag of coins, while the folder containing the banknotes was missing. Highly unlikely he would steal the notes, hide them somewhere then go back to steal the coins."

"And where does the garden gate come into it?"

"Sara had said she was in the parlor at night, retrieving her phone that she'd left there, when she heard a sound outside. Looking out of the window, she said she saw a figure at the gate. Now I couldn't see the gate from that window, nor could I see you. She was lying, trying to throw us off the scent."

"Why, when her brother has already been accused of the crime?"

"Because the maid, Lucy, heard the windows closing, and saw Sara pass by. Sara needed an excuse for opening that window. Can you piece it together yet?"

Violet turned to look up at Sherlock. "Will you have sex with me if I get it?"

"You're really... amorous tonight, aren't you?"

"Look at this bed! The fireplace! You, me! What else do you need?"

Sherlock grinned at her, his hands cupping her face. He drew her face up closer to his, and kissed her passionately. Violet felt like she was kissing the lord of the manor, reflecting on the standoffish way Sherlock had been behaving toward her all afternoon. She let her hand drift down his shirt, coming to rest against his fly. She rubbed hard against the cloth of his trousers, as Sherlock grinned and made his low rumbling laugh. He gently guided her hand away.

"I'll make love to you anyway, whether you work it out or not. Now, excuse me, Ms Hunter."

He tapped her away. Violet sighed and rolled off Sherlock. Sherlock rose from the bed, and strode over to his coat, which was hanging up on a stand near the door.

"Is today the tomorrow you were quitting?" Violet asked.

"I haven't purchased any nicotine patches yet."

"Okay..." Violet began, sitting up on the bed and crossing her legs. She watched as Sherlock made his way to the window to open it. "Sara is having an affair with George. She's a highly impressionable, dim-witted, over-sexed girl. He has gambling debts and upon hearing about the coin collection in her father's possession, he convinces her to steal them for him. Somehow Anthony hears her in the night going past his room or something, and he goes out to investigate. He sees her take the coins and notes from the bureau, follows her, and watches her hand them to George through the parlor window. He chases George outside, they fight, he only recovers the coins and goes to put them back when he's discovered. Because Sara's the baby of the household, Anthony says nothing and takes the heat for her."

Sherlock grinned, and slowly clapped his hands for Violet.

"Well done, Ms Hunter."

Violet pumped her fists into the air. "Woohoo! Take that Mr Fuckin' Ruddy-faced Holder!"

Sherlock chuckled.

"So," Violet said, slowly disrobing, "When I'm getting the confirmation of the affair with George from Sara, what will you be doing tomorrow?"

Sherlock stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill, then strode over to the fireplace to dispose of the butt.

"I'll pay a visit to the police lock-up to interview and hopefully release Anthony Holder. It will be up to Alexander Holder how he wants to proceed with his daughter's and her lover's involvement. They may be able to recover the banknotes with no charges being laid."

"Oh nice. Case closed then," Violet said, smiling and removing the last of her garments.

"Case closed," said Sherlock, unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

Of course there were the loose ends to tie up. Alexander Holder didn't mind Violet volunteering to accompany Sara into Manchester for shopping the next morning. Sherlock had assured him that he would have the case solved by mid-afternoon, and that they should pay a visit to his son to confirm the details of what had actually transpired.

Violet was the best gal-pal Sara ever had, apparently. They shopped, gossiped and confided in each other about the older men they had bedded - one who's name was George, according to Sara. Violet bid farewell to Sara, making sure that Holder's driver was instructed to take Sara back to Fairbank, with no detours. Then she sent a text to Sherlock confirming the seedy liaisons between Sara and George Burnwell.

Sherlock had decided that it would be less taxing on Violet if she just stayed in the city after the shopping trip and wait for Sherlock there. She'd have two or three hours to kill before Sherlock could join her, then they'd leave on the four o'clock train back to London.

What could Violet do in Manchester for three hours?

She had some visiting to do, that's what.

Violet had a very methodical way for organising for this particular outing. Firstly, she would go shopping at one of the many op shops she knew of in and around the city. Secondly, she would purchase a small amount of groceries from a convenience store, then she would hire a locker at Manchester Piccadilly Station. She'd change into the baggy op shop clothes in the station toilets - usually an ill-fitting t-shirt, loose slacks, old sneakers and a baseball cap under which she could hide her long hair. Lastly, she'd stow all of her own gear in the locker, hiding the locker key in her underwear.

_There._

_Done_.

Now she was all ready.

Grabbing the bag of groceries, she made her way to Ukara Street. Number 70.

She looked up at the building's run down facade. _Nothing ever changes. If only Sherlock could see me now_, she thought.

Violet hurried up the steps, pushed open the front door, then preceded up the internal staircase, casting a nervous glance at a door on the ground floor. _I hope you're dead, Carlo. I hope you're fuckin' dead_, she thought glaring at the door.

One flight, two flights, three. Violet walked along the threadbare carpet to flat number 34. It had been almost four months since her last visit. She held her breath, as she did every time.

She knocked, waited a polite five seconds, then opened the door.

The TV was on. Three heads turned her way, looked disinterestedly at her, then turned back to the telly. One followed her movements though. Violet made her way over to the dining table in the kitchen area and placed the groceries on it.

"That you, Lettie?" said a young woman, rising from the couch.

"Yes, Emily," Violet said, turning back toward the living area. "How are ya?"

"Fucked up, as always," Emily said, walking over to Violet.

"You look like fuckin' shite," Violet said, pulling Emily into a hug.

Emily grinned. "Did you get peanut butter?"

"Yeah. And don't eat it with your fingers. Hey Riley!" Violet called to a fair-haired young man with his back to her. Riley stuck up two fingers at her as a peace sign.

"Come and sit down," Emily said, grabbing Violet's hand.

Violet and Emily squeezed onto the couch in between Riley and two guys Violet didn't know. Emily opened the peanut butter jar.

"This is Lettie," Emily said, by way of introduction. "This is Ewan, and Moss."

"Hey, " said Violet.

Ewan splayed his hand and Moss nodded. Violet pulled off her baseball cap, and ran her hand through her hair. Emily snorted.

"I fuckin' knew it. You're that fuckin' preggo from Regency!"

"Shhh!" Violet smiled.

Emily hugged her. "You fucking made it, Lettie!"

"Shhh!"

Emily laughed. "You've always wanted the same hair colour as me, you twat!"

"At least my hair's washed. You smell like a fucking grease pit."

"Fuck off, Christa!"

"Hey can you two shut the fuck up! I can't hear the questions!" Moss protested.

"Shut up, wank face! You don't know the answers anyway!" Emily argued.

"Your rent still being paid?" Violet asked quietly.

"Yep," Emily replied, staring at the telly. Then she turned to Violet. "You back with Jakey yeah?"

"No," Violet replied swiftly, then she added, "I'm with someone else. Jake and I are...we're okay. Hey, you'll tell me if Carlo...hassles you again, right?"

"Sure," Emily replied faintly, and turning back to the TV.

"Em?"

"He's okay!" she said more forcefully. "As long as the rent's paid, right?"

"Jake will keep paying it," Violet remarked, trying to convince herself more than Emily. "You got any blow?"

Emily turned back to Violet slowly, looking puzzled, "I thought you didn't do that shit any more, Lettie."

"I don't. Just checking about you."

"I'll be fine 'til tomorrow morning."

"And then what?"

"Moss can get us some, hey Moss?"

Moss turned around at the sound of his name, and looked angrily at Violet.

"I'm not fuckin' providing' for this cunt, fuckin' free-loada, right?"

"She doesn't want your shit!"

"I should go," Violet said.

"You just got here! And anyway, I'm still up. Please stay. You know all the answers to this show, yeah?"

"Do you want me to take you to see your mum today?"

"No. Just stay."

Emily snuggled into Violet and Violet put her arm around her.

"Winston fucking Churchill!" she yelled at the telly.

* * *

He was beaming at her as he strode towards her. Yep, another case closed.

"Let's go home," Sherlock said, embracing Violet. He kissed her on her cheek.

He pulled away a little and peered into her face. Then he leant in and sniffed her neck, wrinkling his nose.

"What?" she said, perplexed.

Sherlock lifted her arm and sniffed her bare skin.

"Sherlock!" Violet said, looking around in case anyone noticed them.

"You smell like..." he sniffed her top. "But not..." He pulled her top away from her shoulder a little and sniffed there.

"What are you doing?"

"What were you doing?" he eyed her suspiciously.

"Waiting for you," she replied. _Good God, does he know everything?_

"Where were you waiting?"

"Why?"

"Because you smell like an addict's sweat. Not your clothes, just your skin. So it's not your sweat, as you don't smell underneath your top. It's just superficial. It's on you, but not from you."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"An addict's sweat? You are fucking kidding me!"

"Some of my homeless network smell like that. Unmistakeable. Have you been draping yourself in random blankets around the city or..."

"Visiting a friend," Violet interrupted. "At the flat we used to live. I bought her food. I just like to check that she's still alive now and again, that's all."

Sherlock stopped his rambling, and stared at Violet. "Oh."

"I'll go use the station showers. Change my clothes. We've got ... " she looked up at one of the station clocks, "...20 minutes, so I'll just do ... that."

"Violet."

"No, it's okay. I didn't realize I smelt that bad."

She tried to smile at him, but instead burst into tears. Sherlock grabbed her into a hug. He rubbed her back, while he looked around at people bustling about the station.

"Is she okay?" he asked.

Violet nodded.

"You don't have to shower," he said.

"I do. We have two and a half hours on a train. I don't want you sniffing me, okay?"

She grabbed her overnight bag, and made her way back to the toilets without looking back at him.

Sherlock had found a seat and was tapping away at his phone when ten minutes later he heard a man's voice call "Violet!" Sherlock looked up. Violet had just appeared from the door to the bathroom, freshly showered, and had looked over at the man who had called her. She looked stunned, but happily so, Sherlock concluded. Violet said a name Sherlock didn't quite hear, and strode over to the him, as he did her. They embraced briefly, then spoke a few words. The guy, late twenties, or early thirties, Sherlock deduced, had a short haircut, nice suit, expensive watch and shoes. _Organized crime_, Sherlock thought curiously.

Sherlock watched as this unknown guy absentmindedly rubbed Violet's upper arm as he spoke to her. Violet didn't cringe or pull away. _An intimate history then_, thought Sherlock. Then Violet looked concerned, then confused, incredulous and finally angry. She violently shoved the man, yelling, "You fuckin' prick! You said you'd never let him touch me again!"

Sherlock immediately stood up and strode over to the pair.

"I would've stopped him, right!" said the young man, stepping back from Violet and holding his arms out wide.

"Violet," said Sherlock as he joined them.

"We're right here, buddy," said the suited guy.

Sherlock took an instant dislike to anybody who called him buddy.

"Violet?" he asked again.

Violet composed herself, but still staring at the guy she said, "Don't ever talk to me again."

"I would have stopped him! If he'd gone further...Violet!" he protested as Violet stalked past Sherlock. Sherlock glared at the young, still unidentified man as MetroRail Security showed up.

"Is everything okay here, sir?"

"Yes. Good. Spat with my ex. No biggie," the suit said, then he walked away.

Sherlock was puzzled as he turned around to follow Violet. She was sitting on the bench Sherlock had vacated. She wasn't crying, just quietly fuming. Sherlock stood in front of her.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, unable to contain his fury. He wasn't sure exactly who to be angry with: Violet for having some secret other life; or this anonymous guy who acted far too familiar with Violet. Sherlock thought he knew who Violet's most recent boyfriends were.

"That was Danny. He's Jake's... I don't know... right hand man?"

Sherlock was fuming. Of course this had something to do with Venucci. He knew it was a mistake to bring Violet to fucking Manchester.

"And you..." _fucked him_, he wanted to ask. The body language was all there.

Violet seemed to know what he was asking. "Just once. He looked after me. He cleaned up Jake's messes. That included me. You couldn't help get close to someone under those circumstances."

Sherlock straightened up, rubbing his hands through his hair. There were a few people taking notice of them now.

"Why did you shove him?" he asked more calmly.

"Because he just told me he was driving the car when Jake visited me in London." Violet blinked back tears. "He heard I came to town yesterday. Someone spotted us at the station when we arrived. He came to see if I was all right."

She smiled incredulously. "He was fucking there. Sitting right there in the fucking front seat, Sherlock."

Violet crossed her arms and looked around her. "What the fuck are you staring at!" she spat at someone behind Sherlock. Sherlock moved toward the bench and sat down next to Violet. He took her hand in his.

"Let's just get home, okay? Not cause a scene. I think you've been recognized."

He rubbed his thumb over Violet's hand, hoping that would have a calming effect. He still couldn't tell whether Violet would explode or cry at any given situation. His ability to read her was erratic at best.

"I hate Manchester," she whispered.

"So do I."


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

"So everybody clear?" John asked, beaming.

"I really don't think this is decent," Mrs Hudson lamented.

"It's all right, Mrs Hudson. John can drink for you when it's your turn," Greg Lestrade suggested mischievously.

"I don't get the difference between his frown and his not impressed look," queried Molly. "Can't I just have him whispering something to Violet?"

"Okay okay," John said, spreading out his hands as he took in the look of descension in the room. "Let's start again."

"Turn the telly off John. It won't be on for ages," Mary suggested.

"Right," said John, with the air of authority, clicking the TV off with the remote control. "I think allocating the more frequent and likely expressions to Greg and I will mean we get to do most of the drinking, okay?"

"I don't see why we have to play a drinking game at all," the landlady said, standing up.

"Because watching the entire telecast of the TELSAs without drinking would be mind-numbingly boring," John replied.

"Well, I'm going to get the nibbles," Mrs Hudson said, making her way to her kitchen. "Nobody should be drinking on an empty stomach."

"Okay, let's go over it again. Greg, you'll down it if we see Sherlock frowning? That's when he gets those little creases in his brow. I'll chug if he has no expression at all. And Molly?"

"If we see him whispering anything to Violet."

"Good! Mary?"

"Smiling?"

"Excellent! And I think we can all drink for Mrs Hudson if he gives Violet a kiss," John concluded.

"Why would he kiss Violet on national tv?" asked Mrs Hudson, returning with two plates of cheese and biscuits.

"If she wins an award, they might show him doing that!" Mary suggested.

"Well I think we need a double category if we catch him headbutting someone. Hell, I'll down an entire bottle to see that!" Lestrade raised his glass and laughed.

"Hmm, yes," John mused. "Sherlock giving someone an earful. That's highly likely. Not sure they'll air that though."

"Right then," Mary said, standing up. "Is there anything else to bring in, Mrs Hudson?"

"How long to go now, John?" Molly asked, as Mary and Mrs Hudson exited the landlady's living room.

"Sherlock just texted me that Violet and her co-stars are getting photos done in the hotel lobby while they wait for the limos. Ages yet. Oh, he said to check twitter as Chenoa is constantly uploading photos."

John smirked and quickly sent Sherlock a couple of messages.

"Oh," said Molly looking around. "Does anyone have a computer?"

"I'll go get Sherlock's upstairs. Back in a tick."

John left Molly and Lestrade and sprinted upstairs.

* * *

Sherlock lounged in Bar Avalon in the Hotel Sydney watching with interest the antics of the Regency Road stars and their partners. Some, like him, took to the comfy sofas, drinks in hand, steeling themselves for the night ahead. Violet was getting her photo taken for the umpteenth time. She looked over at Sherlock and smiled.

Sherlock's phone buzzed.

JOHN: [ What's happening? ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ Violet and co. are having their photos taken. Waiting for limos. I'm drinking. SH ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ Check twitter. Chenoa keeps uploading photos I think. SH ]

.

JOHN: [ Send us a photo. ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ Of Chenoa? SH ]

.

JOHN: [ Of you and Violet, you nob! ]  
.

"Back again!" Violet interrupted Sherlock. She sat down next to him and kissed his cheek. He smiled and grabbed her hand.

"Having fun?" he asked her, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Mmm. You?"

"I'll just finish this one. That would be my third. Ask me again in half an hour," he added, grinning.

"Sherlock! You can't get drunk right now!" Violet whispered to him, horrified. "It's going to be a really really long night! I need you to be..."

"What?"

"...on your best behavior."

"I'll be fine," Sherlock said through slitted eyes. He leaned towards her and kissed Violet on the lips, bringing his hand up to hold her there longer. He was feeling very relaxed now, and didn't care who saw them. She didn't seem to mind. "Mmm," muttered Sherlock, "I think I like being your official boyfriend now. Someone keeps paying for my drinks."

"They're complimentary. And don't have any more, okay?" Violet continued scolding him. "You've been very patient all afternoon, please slow down or you won't have the stamina to last the whole evening."

Sherlock sighed. It had been a very long afternoon. And an even longer week.

They had returned from Manchester early Monday evening. Violet had calmed down considerably after her encounter with Danny, Jake's main man, and nothing more was said on the matter.

She rose early on Tuesday, nervous about getting to read for a small role in a period drama, a 3-part mini series called "Catherine Hilderness", based on the classic novel of the same name. Violet was reading for the part of the character when she was 18. It was only a minor role, but having the chance to work with industry-renowned director Damien Oakeshott would be a huge boost to her career. The names meant nothing to Sherlock. He did a lot of research that week though, after Violet learnt she had won the part immediately after reading for it. It seemed Oakeshott had seen Violet in _Rose's War_ and had specifically asked for her. The reading was only tokenistic. She'd already had the part if she wanted it.

Of course Sherlock considered anybody who _wanted_ Violet to be slightly dodgy and untrustworthy, hence the research. Oakeshott had checked out okay, though, thanks to Mycroft's additional investigations at Sherlock's request.

Violet, of course, was privy to none of Sherlock's background checking.

On Wednesday and Thursday Violet filmed her final scenes for Regency Road. There were additional tears for this on Thursday as well. Her Regency Road crew and co-stars agreed with her to celebrate this at the show's after party for the TELSAs.

Actually, one lot of tears on Thursday was attributed to Violet having a meltdown when she discovered that Sherlock hadn't picked up his tuxedo on Tuesday when he said he was going to. Then he promised to pick it up Friday, with Violet feeling completely stressed because she wouldn't be there to ensure Sherlock did in fact pick it up. She had an early BrekkyTV interview along with five of her other cast mates who had all received nominations for the TELSAs, then she had a photoshoot for Regency Road's publicity drive for Christa's farewell scenes. Although the photographs were to be published in magazines one week before the scenes would be aired, Violet was getting her hair dyed in time for the awards night, so they had to take the photos while her hair was still jet black, and while she was still under contract with the studio.

When Sherlock finally saw Violet early Friday evening he was taken aback. She was blonde again - not the platinum blonde as for _Rose's War_, but a softer golden blonde. And he said he liked it.

He tried on his tux, which he had remembered to pick up, and Violet cried because he looked so handsome, she said.

Then Saturday morning seemed equally as stressful. Violet kept yelling out things for Sherlock to remember, of which he could only recall one: that was his instructions to be at the hotel no later than 3pm. Violet had to leave earlier as the studio had provided a whole day of pampering for their nominated stars and studio executives, which included hair, make-up, massages, manicures and pedicures, lunch and gift bags.

Sherlock and Violet had booked a room in the same hotel for the night, as that was also where the after party was going to be. Sherlock's instructions included bringing Violet's overnight bag, as she wouldn't have a chance to check in to their room first. She would be going to the Regency Road rooms until she was dressed, and would meet Sherlock in their suite sometime after four.

Sherlock forgot the bag.

She'd also instructed him to grab her camera, and to remember the battery which was being charged on the living room table.

He forgot.

And finally, call by a shop and buy her one of those purse pack tissue thingies in case she cried.

Nope.

The only highlight of Sherlock's Saturday morning after Violet had left for the hotel was John calling round to check on Sherlock.

"Nervous?" John asked.

"No, why should I be?"

"Because you'll be on the telly."

"Why would I be on _-telly-_ ?"

"Because you'll be at the awards that they're televising live."

"Well I won't be up on stage," Sherlock scoffed.

"Have you ever watched the TELSAs?"

"Why would I have?"

"Okay," John said, striding over to the couch and opening Sherlock's computer which sat on the coffee table. "Have a look at this..." John said, navigating to YouTube.

Sherlock sighed and sat down beside him.

"Here," John said typing with two fingers, "TELSAs twenty twelve red carpet ... okay, here's one. There - that git just stepped on his girlfriend's dress. Ooh. Not good. Don't do that."

Sherlock frowned. "Clearly an idiot."

"Ah, yeah, I think Violet knows how to climb out of a car," John commented after viewing another clip showing a female celebrity's costume malfunction upon disembarking a limo.

"I hope so."

"Look, he doesn't know he's being filmed!" John laughed at the next one.

"Well, that's just knowledge of what's acceptable behavior in public. What do all these have to do with me?"

"Sherlock, just realize from the moment you turn up in the limo, all eyes will be on you. There's the public - the fans, with their phones and cameras, and various entertainment shows grabbing interviews, the usual paparazzi, plus the official broadcaster. Everyone and anyone can see you and Violet. And if you fuck up, you'll end up on YouTube."

"That's ridiculous. Why do people care?"

"Why did you buy gossip magazines?"

"To see Violet, of course."

"There are plenty of people who want to see Violet, and plenty more who want to see the bigger celebrities."

"Well they don't know her," Sherlock said dismissively. He stood up.

"That's not the point. This is an entire industry. Everyone wants a piece."

"So..."

"So just be aware, that's all. Remember this is for Violet. So..."

"Don't fuck up. Got it."

John hadn't quite succeeded in making Sherlock feel nervous. The whole event seemed fairly ridiculous to Sherlock, so he didn't see why he should feel anxious about something which possessed no logic.

Sherlock had spent the afternoon in the hotel room trying to read messages off his phone, and feeling frustrated that he had neglected to bring his own laptop. The cast and their accompanying guests were to all meet in the lobby at 5pm, so he would only see Violet in their room between four and five. He was lounging around surfing the cable channels when Violet texted him at five minutes to four.

VIOLET: [I'm coming up with the hairdresser. I hope you're dressed!]

_Fuck!_

Sherlock had a two minute shower, then raced to put his trousers and shirt on. He grunted in frustration at the way the buttons on the shirt had an extra piece of material behind which the buttons were hidden. _Why do you need to hide buttons! Everybody knows they're there!_

Luckily he was fairly decent by the time Violet entered.

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as he saw Violet for the first time since she had left Baker Street that morning. She smiled at him, and turned around for him. She looked a vision of classical elegance, old-Hollywood style in a soft off-white strapless ballgown with a tight-fitting bodice, and a full skirt with slight ruffles. Her hair was styled in a low, side bun, her make-up - subtle.

"Um," he was all he could manage to say.

Violet laughed. She knew Sherlock wasn't equipped with a wide range of sentimental words suitable for the occasion, so she let him off the hook by introducing the man who had walked in behind her.

"Sherlock, this is Trevor. He's going to work some magic with your hair."

Sherlock's look changed to one of mild horror.

And now here he was in a hotel bar, waiting for the circus to commence.

"John wants a photo of you and I," Sherlock said to Violet, after he drained the rest of his drink.

"Oh good," Violet replied, beaming. "I wanted a photo of us, but I didn't think you'd go for it."

"I'm suitably smashed, so that's fine," Sherlock said, standing up, and adjusting his jacket.

"What?" Violet asked, also standing up.

"I'm joking."

"You'd better be. Now, where's my camera?"

"Just use your phone," Sherlock quickly suggested.

"Sherlock, where's my camera?"

"Safe and sound on our living room table," Sherlock grinned mischievously.

"My overnight bag?"

"My bedroom."

"Tissues?"

"Convenience store?"

"Thank you. It's a wonder you turned up."

"I had my misgivings. Here...excuse me!" Sherlock called out to a passing gentleman. "Would you mind taking our photo?"

"Sherlock!" Violet hissed.

"No problem," the man said. "Uh, camera?"

"Violet, phone," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at the bespectacled older gentleman.

Violet hurriedly pulled her phone out of her purse and navigated to the camera app.

"Here, thank you!" she gushed apologetically.

"Ah, over here would be good."

The man waved them over to a curtained wall, and snapped the happy couple.

"Thank you. I'm so sorry, Mr Bessinero...Victor."

"Enjoy your evening, and good luck, Violet!" Bessinero said amiably, handing back Violet's phone.

"Friendly chap," Sherlock commented as Victor Bessinero walked out of earshot.

"Sherlock! He's the fuckin' executive producer of Regency Road!"

"Doesn't mean anything to me."

"Obviously," Violet muttered as the checked the photo on her phone.

"Can you send that to John? They're having drinks with Mrs Hudson," Sherlock requested.

"Are they? How lovely," Violet said, tapping away at her phone.

"Another drink?" asked Sherlock. He was starting to enjoy himself.

* * *

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson held one hand to her face. She was feeling teary again. "She looks so beautiful. And Sherlock. Oh!"

"That ain't Sherlock!" Lestrade commented.

"That is the most un-Sherlock look I have ever seen," John added.

"Where?" asked Mary, trying to squeeze in around John's phone.

John handed his phone to Mary, so she and Molly could have a look at the photo Violet had sent him.

"Where's his curls?" Molly asked sadly.

"Sherlock in a tie, that's incredible. Just wait til the lads at the yard see him on telly," Lestrade chuckled.

"Violet tamed those curls at last," Mary said.

"I liked his curly hair," Molly said faintly.

"I think it's just gelled back," added Mary reassuringly.

"And he's smiling. So, technically, that's our first drink to you, Mary," said John.

"I thought we were only doing that for the footage on TV?" Mary protested.

"Oh come one, let's all have a drink. A toast to Sherlock's new look!" Lestrade said as he raised his glass.

Molly frowned, as they all toasted Sherlock...except for Mrs Hudson who tutted.

* * *

"And they dumped the bodies in the Sylvanian River, where they floated downstream into a..."

"Sherlock!" Violet said incredulously, interrupting Sherlock's conversation with Esme Duggan aka Granny Weatherby from Regency Road. She couldn't leave him alone for a minute.

"Sherlock was just telling me all about the Bronson Twins murder investigation. I lived in the same town as their uncle! Nasty business!"

"Esme, can I just borrow Sherlock for a minute?"

"Excuse me," Sherlock said politely, standing up to join Violet.

Violet walked a little way over to the wall. Sherlock followed.

"What are you doing?" she asked Sherlock in a whisper.

"Bronson Twins murder. It was before my time, but I had some theories. The place where the bodies...

"Can you not do this tonight?" Violet interjected.

"Do what?"

"Discuss your cases."

"But it's my job."

"Just not tonight."

"Everyone's discussing their work. That guy over there who's dating Shannon or Shanoana, or something..."

"Chenoa," corrected Violet.

"Yes. He's a networking consultant. He configures routers for the FNDA. Once they..."

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"We have to go soon. Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"Do I?"

"I don't know how much you've had to drink, and there may be a long wait once we're in the limo."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Good point. I'd better go now then."

He kissed Violet on the cheek then said, "This is fun!"

_Oh my dear God_, thought Violet as he left.

* * *

"Shhh! It's starting!" John reached over and un-muted the television.

"Oh, it's the red carpet! Quick keep an eye out!" Mrs Hudson said in a panic.

"Don't worry Mrs Hudson. Sherlock just texted. They're 15 minutes away, and they're in some sort of limousine queue."

"Oh, is that the show she was on?" Molly asked, as a summary of shows and nominees was shown.

"Have you never watched Regency Road, Moll?" Lestrade asked.

Molly scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

John snorted, staring at his phone. "I think Sherlock's tanked. Look!"

John showed everyone the photo on his phone. It was a selfie of Sherlock with his arm around Esme Duggan.

They laughed, except for Mrs Hudson, who looked worried.

* * *

"I need to go to the bathroom," Sherlock complained.

"Again?"

"That was half an hour ago. How much longer are we going to wait?"

"I don't know. Can you hold on?"

"Look, we're moving so slowly, I could get out here, run into that supermarket across the street, and catch up with you down the road. You would hardly have moved in that time."

"Sherlock, no! You're fuckin' kidding me. You're not getting out of this limo!"

[Five minutes later]

"We haven't moved! I could've gone in that time!"

"Shut up!

* * *

SHERLOCK: [ Third in queue. This is madness! Need another drink, but the big V says no. SH ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ Something is strangling me. Oh, it's my tie. SH ]

.

John was almost crying with laughter at this stage. He needed another drink himself.

"Okay," he said, wiping his tears away. "Sherlock said they're third now, so not this one...just keep count."

JOHN: [ Make sure you scowl, smile, whisper something to Violet then kiss her, in that order. ]

SHERLOCK: [ Now? ]

JOHN: [ No, you stupid git. When you're out. ]

SHERLOCK: [ The big V is telling me to stop texting. ]

JOHN: [ Tell her to lighten up and have a drink. ]

* * *

"Ah!" yelled John.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson.

Molly gasped as Sherlock disembarked from the limousine, and held out his hand for Violet. Violet stepped out elegantly and smiled shyly to alternate shouts of 'Violet!' and 'Christa!' Sherlock held her hand as they walked a couple of steps along the red carpet. They could just make out his furrowed brow before the shot switched to Chenoa Burton twirling for the cameras, showing off her gown.

"Frowning! That's you Greg!" John yelled at the D.I.

"I think he had no expression at all when he was helping Violet out of the car, so that's you too!" Lestrade retorted.

"Oh, I think I need a sherry," Mrs Hudson said faintly, putting her hand up to her face again.

The shot changed to another celebrity from a rival show getting out of a limo, then they cut to an ad break.

"This may take a while," Mary commented. "Anyone for white wine?"

* * *

SHERLOCK: [ V is being interviewed by some online gossip magazine. ]

.

JOHN: [ Stay in shot. You may end up on YouTube. ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ Now she's getting her photo taken. ]

.

JOHN: [ Good. ]

.

.

SHERLOCK: [ I just had my photo taken with V. There were 15 photographers. 15! Didn't know where to look. Morons. ]

.

JOHN: [ I'll check twitter. ]

.

SHERLOCK: [ #telsas ]

.

JOHN: [ Yes, thank you. ]

* * *

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson gasped again, as Violet twirled for the camera.

"Where's Sherlock?" Mary asked.

"There!" John pointed to an arm and a leg that you could just see on the side of the screen.

"I think we all have to down our drinks if we only see body parts," John suggested.

"Here, here!" said Lestrade, drinking anyway.

There were shots of more celebrities disembarking from limos, more gowns being twirled interspersed with short interviews, and then finally Violet's interview.

John hooted. Sherlock was in shot. He was looking to the left and frowning.

"Greg!" John yelled. Lestrade obliged.

John quickly tapped away at his phone while on screen Violet described her surprise at being nominated twice. They watched as Sherlock in the background looked down, at his phone John guessed, and smirked.

"Mary!" John giggled.

"Did you just text him?" Mary asked.

Violet was talking about her next project while Sherlock turned to the right.

"I can't tell if he's frowning or smirking," Lestrade said.

"Smirking," said Molly.

Then Sherlock leant towards Violet who was just talking about her dress's designer, and whispered something in her ear.

"Molly!" shouted Lestrade.

Violet stopped short then said to the interviewer, "I'm sorry, what were you saying... this is my boyfriend, Sherlock, by the way..."

"Hello!" Sherlock waved.

John was in fits of laughter on the floor. He snorted. Mary confiscated his phone.

Once John had composed himself and the shot moved on to other celebrities being interviewed, he suggested they all drink because Sherlock had spoken on national telly.

.  
SHERLOCK: [ I'm in trouble with V. ]

JOHN: [ Why? ]

SHERLOCK: [ I interrupted her interview by asking her if she knew where the nearest bathroom was. ]

John giggled to himself. He had been drinking continually since the show started. He was able to retrieve his phone back from Mary as long as he promised not to ask Sherlock to smile.

JOHN: [ Did you find the bathroom? ]

SHERLOCK: [ Yes, the facilities are very fancy here. I think I was pissing next to someone famous. ]

JOHN: [ How drunk are you? ]

SHERLOCK: [ Just enough to get me barred from having sex with Violet for two weeks. ]

.

.  
SHERLOCK: [ Sitting down to dinner. Some crayfish thing. Having wine. V is nervous. ]

JOHN: [ You have to kiss Violet at some stage so Mrs Hudson can drink. ]

SHERLOCK: [ What? ]

VIOLET: [ Stop texting Sherlock. I need him to behave himself. ]

* * *

There was an opening number - some song and dance thing by a local comedian who was trying to insult everyone with clever lyrics, as they cut to those celebrities he was trying to offend. There was one line about a pregnant teenager nobody wanted to bed, except in nightclub toilets, and they cut to Violet who was playing along, looking incredulous and pretending to be offended. They could just make out Sherlock beside her looking unimpressed.

"John!" Lestrade said.

"That's a scowl," said John.

"There was no furrowed brow."

"It's that look he gives you when you say a bad joke," Molly offered.

* * *

Sherlock held Violet's hand, as the show cut to an ad break.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Fine. Just nervous I guess. Thanks for coming with me. Crazy huh?"

He leant over and kissed her. "You've handled this like a professional. I'm impressed."

"Hey, you two, photo!" It was Matt. He held up his phone as Violet and Sherlock turned to look at him and smiled. "Mind if I tweet that?"

Violet looked at Sherlock.

"It's fine," he said, waving his hand.

"Go ahead," Violet said to Matt.

"I'm going to the men's room," Sherlock said, standing up. "If they come round asking for drinks I'll have another scotch," he finished, bending down and kissing Violet on the cheek.

* * *

There were no more shots of Violet and Sherlock for about 45 minutes as different category winners were announced, although John swore it was Sherlock's hands clapping to the right of the screen when they showed a close-up of one of the other Regency Road stars who was nominated for Best Villain. Lestrade and John both chugged at their own new category of witnessing Sherlock's body parts on screen.

Mrs Hudson squealed and Mary grabbed her hand as they announced the next category, Rising New Talent.

[_ PRESENTER: This category recognises soap's newcomers to our screens, someone whose arrival has injected something fresh and exciting, introducing an onscreen spark to our favourite soaps. Here to present this award we have an old already risen talent, a Summerville stalwart, and most recently seen on Soft Heads, Hard Hearts, let's welcome the amazing iron lady, Veronica Yolender!_

_-Applause-_

_VERONICA: Thank you, Scott, although I do take offense at being called "old"..._ ]

"Get on with it!" called John.

"Quiet John!" Mary snapped, and gave him a look of disapproval. "Oh, there they are!" Mary pointed to Violet and Sherlock onscreen for a second, reacting to Veronica's comment about playing a pregnant teenager once, but not having the permission to swear as much as bloody Violet Hunter was allowed to during her birth scenes. Sherlock was smiling mildly.

"Mary!" called Lestrade.

"It doesn't help that Sherlock's been drinking and John's texted him all night," Mary replied, taking only a small sip of her drink.

John shushed her.

[_ VERONICA: And the nominees for Rising New Talent are: Beccy Allury, Young Hateful Things..._

_._  
_... Cal Vieler, Sussex Sons..._

_._  
_... Violet Hunter, Regency Road ..._ ]

The living room exploded, as they saw Sherlock's furrowed brow disappearing in place of a broad smile while he clapped, and he was just turning to Violet to say something as the shot went back to the stage. Mrs Hudson held her face in her hands as John, Mary and Molly had to drink.

[_VERONICA: ... and Michael Shobern, Dusseldorf._

_And the award for Rising New Talent goes to..._ ]

"Body part!" yelled Lestrade at the composite screen of all four nominees shown in close-up, allowing only Sherlock's arm to be visible in shot.

[_ VERONICA: ... Cal Vieler, Sussex Sons!_ ]

"Rubbish!" John yelled.

"Oh, she's a good sport!" Mrs Hudson commented as they cut to each of the nominees while Cal Vieler made his way to the stage. Violet was clapping and smiling broadly, while Sherlock was merely clapping.

"John!" called Lestrade.

"Yeah that was pretty unemotional," John replied, taking a swig.

John's phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ Rigged. ]

JOHN: [ Smile you big goose. I'm trying to get Mary drunk. ]

SHERLOCK: [ What? ]

.  
SHERLOCK: [ There's obviously some foul play happening here. Need to get behind the scenes to investigate. ]

JOHN: [ The results are as voted by the public. ]

SHERLOCK: [ Then the public are idiots. ]

* * *

"I'm going to the bathroom," Violet said, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"I'll come too," he answered.

"No, you can't. There's already too many jokes about me and toilet cubicles. I'm sick of it."

"Hey, are you all right?"

"Yes, fine!" she smiled and kissed him. "Just don't move, don't talk about your cases, and no more drinking, okay?"

"What was the first thing again?"

"Sherlock!"

* * *

"Yeah, he looks bored. Next!" said John.

They had taken to scrolling through photos of the TELSAs on Twitter and applying their drinking game to that - John and Lestrade with more enthusiasm than the ladies.

"Sherlock seems like a completely different person," Molly said quietly to Mary, as they sat back on Mrs Hudson's couch while the others were gathered around Sherlock's computer resting on a side table.

"I think he's just showing another side to him. One which was dormant, probably. He still acts the same when he's on a case, or interacting with other people. Violet just brings out something else," Mary replied pleasantly.

Molly frowned, knowing what that _something else_ was.

* * *

"I needed to go anyway," Sherlock said to Violet as she bumped into him outside the ladies'. "You took a while."

"The queue is longer for the ladies' and besides, we need to pamper ourselves as well."

Violet moved in closer to Sherlock, a sly smile spreading across her face. She reached for Sherlock's lapels. "But now that I've got you here, and we're in a semi-private corridor..."

Violet reached up and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss, one that he responded to most enthusiastically. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. Around them there were the light swishes of gowned ladies hurrying past, whispers and giggles, doors opening and closing, as well as the sound of the orchestra playing music during the breaks in the ceremony. Violet knew there were at least three more categories to be announced before her next one, so that was at least 15 more minutes away. And this would be 15 minutes well spent snogging her boyfriend: Her official, as announced on National TV, boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

[_ PRESENTER: Welcome back, you're watching the 23rd Television Soap Awards. I'm your host, Scott Kerchamp. We're very excited to present our next category - one displaying tears, animosity, betrayal, lust, and joy. And no I'm not talking about Mitchell Cavendish's dressing room..._

_-Laughter-_

_The award for Most Dramatic Scene has been one which has been hotly contested in previous years, dominated by those scenes usually resulting in a death of a major character. This year to present this award, please welcome one character whose death caused a whole nation to mourn, Mr Alex Breville!_ ]

"Goodness, he's hot!" exclaimed Mary.

"I think he's been up on drugs charges!" added Lestrade, winking at John.

[ _ALEX: Thank you, Scott. Ladies and Gentlemen, lovely to be returning from the afterworld to present this award. I know a lot of blood was spilled in getting these fine actors and actresses nominated, especially you, Robbie, ya bastard!_

_-Laughter-_

_Okay, let's have a look at these scenes. The nominees for this award are - ooh, my favourite:_

_Violet Hunter, Regency Road..._ ]

Violet had her hand over her mouth. Mary thought she looked like she was going to cry. Sherlock kissed her on her cheek.

"Mrs Hudson!" John yelled, scaring the landlady half to death.

They cut to the Regency Road scene of Christa finding out her brother had died.

[ _ALEX: Robbie Iola, Sussex Sons..._

_._

-_Cut to a scene from Sussex Sons_-

.  
_Chenoa Burton, Regency Road ..._

_._

_-Cut to a scene from Regency Road-_

.  
_and Henry Millert, The Zoo._

_._

-_Cut to a scene from The Zoo_-

.  
_And the award for Best Dramatic Scene goes to..._ ]

.

"Violet Hunter!" both John and Lestrade yelled together.

.

A composite screen showed all four nominess as Lestrade yelled out "Body part!" again.

.

[ _ALEX: Ace! Violet Hunter, Regency Road!_ ]

Violet had covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes brimming with tears, as she turned to Sherlock, who pressed his forehead against hers, grinning. When she removed her hand, he kissed her on the lips and whispered something to her. She smiled and hugged him, then stood up. Matt also rose from his seat and moved around to Violet, grabbing her in a big hug. Chenoa joined them. They cut to the other two nominees, who were smiling and clapping, or at least trying to.

Violet made her way up to the stage, holding onto her dress as she climbed the stairs. They briefly cut to Chenoa who was wiping a tear away. On stage Alex Breville grabbed Violet in a huge embrace and winked at the camera as he held her for a few seconds longer than necessary amid laughter from the audience and a few wolf whistles. He then let her go, handing her the gold statuette. Violet nervously approached the podium.

[ _VIOLET: Oh my God. Thank you. Er..._ ]

She paused to delicately wipe a tear away.

[ _VIOLET: Sherlock, my darling man, did you buy me those tissues like I asked you to?_

_-Laughter-_ ]

They cut to Sherlock, his very own close-up, who was grinning broadly, the creases around his eyes showing more prominently.

"Fuck yeah!" yelled John.

"John!" both Mary and Mrs Hudson shouted together.

[_ VIOLET: This is really one for the writers, Julie, Michelle and Tim, and of course Gary, who directed that scene. A special thanks to Ebony for her waterproof mascara and eyeliner..._

_-Laughter-_

_...thanks to everyone who voted, friends and family, my Dad, and ... my sweetheart..._]

She blew a kiss in Sherlock's direction.

[ _VIOLET: Thank you!_

_-Applause-_ ]

Violet left the stage as Scott, the presenter made his way back to the podium.

"And that," said John standing up and swaying slightly, "is bloody good telly. Now who wants another drink?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

"Okay, quick, unzip me."

"I don't have to be asked twice."

"Sherlock, we don't have time for that," Violet said, turning her back on Sherlock.

"Well I'm not changing. I'll just go like this," he stated, pulling Violet's zipper down.

"No! You have to dress down for the after party. You can't got in your tux."

"That's stupid. Why... oh God, Violet!"

Sherlock's glassy eyes were wide as he noticed what Violet was wearing underneath her gown. He took a couple of shaky steps toward her as Violet let the dress drop.

"Get off the dress!" she hissed. "I have to get it dry cleaned and returned to the designer!"

"What? Oh! Come here then!"

"No! Get off!" Violet said, stepping out of the gown. She stooped and picked it up, carrying it into their hotel suite bedroom.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Sherlock called, shrugging off his jacket and hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers were not working swiftly enough, if at all. He was finding it hard to focus. He entered the bedroom shirtless, unzipping his fly as Violet was reaching around undoing her bustier hooks at the back. Sherlock let his trousers drop to the floor and tried to step out of them, one leg caught over his sock. He tutted, then sat down on the bed in order to pull his leg out.

"Here, let me," Sherlock offered, standing up and swaying over to Violet, eyeing her lustfully.

"No, stay where you are. You're going to get ideas."

"Too late," he said. "And anyway, I don't need much time. Come on, Violet," he pleaded.

"I can't get my hair messed up, and neither should you," she replied, undoing the last hook. She unwrapped the bustier and threw it onto the bed. Now she was only dressed in a thong, suspenders and suspender belt.

"Where's my... oh fuck, Sherlock! My other bra was in my overnight bag!"

"Doesn't matter," he murmured, eyes transfixed. He moved toward her, but received a slap on his hands before he could reach her.

"Now I'm really pissed off! You have no chance, Mister!"

She grabbed the bustier again and started awkwardly putting it back on.

"Help!" she commanded, turning around.

Sherlock felt sulky, but no less amorous. He came up behind her, and instead of helping her fasten the hooks, he encircled his arms around her and started nuzzling her neck.

"We've got time," he whispered, pressing against her.

Violet contemplated the physical evidence that contradicted Sherlock's vocal claims. She turned around and let the bustier drop to the floor. She wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck and whispered to him as he kissed her neck, "I don't think you're going to be very effective right now."

"What? Why?"

"Go lie down and wait for me," Violet said, removing her arms, and heading toward the bathroom. "Go on!" she said encouragingly, noting the lost look in Sherlock's eyes. "I've got a surprise for you!" she added in a sing-song voice.

Sherlock climbed onto the bed, and flopped down onto his back. Violet entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She pulled on a bathrobe then began inspecting her face.

More powder, more eyeliner, she thought, and then set to work. She finished off with lip gloss, took off the bathrobe, sprayed deodorant and perfume, then re-entered the bedroom. She glanced at Sherlock.

_Yep, sound asleep, as expected._

Violet grabbed her bustier from the floor and began the time-consuming process of fastening the hooks herself. Opening the closet she grabbed the dress she had brought for the after party, glancing disappointedly at the shirt she had bought Sherlock for the occasion. She dressed quickly, inspected herself in the mirror, carefully checking that the bustier was compatible with the dress. Then she went over to the bed and sat down beside Sherlock's lifeless body.

"Good night sweet prince," she whispered, kissing him on the lips. Violet smiled to herself and caressed Sherlock's face. "You silly man."

* * *

White light and stabbing pains across Sherlock's brow greeted him as he opened his eyes for the first time.

_Fuck!_

_What happened! Where am I?_ were his first logical thoughts.

_Hotel room. Big night. Alcohol. Dehydrated. Hangover. Awards. Violet._

_Violet?_

He carefully rolled over, lest his head split in two, and found the other side of the bed empty. He slid his hand across the sheet._ Cold._ He was able to focus on the clock briefly - 9:18. Surely too early for Violet to be awake. Her side of the bed had been empty for a while. No sounds coming from the main part of the hotel room. The ensuite door was open, and there was no sign of activity from within.

"Violet?" he called rather hoarsely. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. Slowly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

_Fuck!_

He stopped there, and put his hands up to his head to prevent it from ripping apart. He sat there for a while, breathing slowly, no other thoughts entering his mind other than _Where's Violet_ and_ How can I keep from dying right now?_

He heard the sound of the outer door opening then closing, then footsteps, a thud of a bag being dropped and the rustle of a paper bag being placed on the table. Violet's perfumed scent reached his nose before the vision of her did. At least his senses were working.

She strode in lightly,_ like sunshine, tinkling and glistening_, at least that's what Sherlock thought.

"Hello!" she said. "Ooh, look at you," she remarked, laughing.

Sherlock slowly lifted his head and gazed up at her through half-closed, bloodshot eyes.

"Did we have the same experience last night?" he asked weakly.

Violet smiled and leant down in front of him.

"I think not. I'll get you something."

She kissed his forehead then left the room. Sherlock slowly stood up, and shuffled over to the bathroom. He desperately needed to go, splitting headache or not. When he came out again Violet was waiting for him holding a fizzy drink and a couple of tablets.

"Take these and lie down again. Then go back to sleep. I've booked us in for another night, I don't think the late check-out time will even suit you."

Sherlock took the tablets and gulped down as much of the Berocca as he could stomach. Then he gingerly lay down again. Violet sat down beside him on the bed and stroked his hair.

"Do you want me to keep doing that?" she asked.

"Lie down next to me," he replied with his eyes closed.

"I'll just get changed first. These aren't my clothes," she said, standing up again.

Sherlock's brain tried to process that statement, but he was too pained to ask his rapid-fire questions. Instead he just said, "Why?"

Violet had exited the room and returned carrying her overnight bag.

"Firstly," she said, getting undressed, "I went to the after party without you because you'd passed out. Secondly, I was the only Regency Road award winner who was still completely sober at the end of the night when the decision was made as to who was going to wake up at 5:30 this morning to appear on a special Brekky TV interview conducted in the lobby. And lastly, I had nothing to wear today. I had to borrow these from the EP's niece. I finally got through to Mandi earlier. She went round to Baker Street to fetch my bag and bring it here."

Violet had succeeded in disrobing while reciting her narrative. She was now clad in her bustier and knickers only. She rummaged around in her overnight bag for her own clothes. Sherlock watched her all the while through slitted eyes.

"You had an interview?"

"Yep. Uh." Violet started unhooking her bustier again, sighing in frustration.

"Here, I can help. I won't try anything," Sherlock offered.

Violet sat down on the bed with her back to him.

"How was the interview?"

"Fine. They asked about you."

"What did they say?" Sherlock asked, trying to concentrate on grasping the hooks.

"They wanted to know who you were and how we met, given that the last time I was on the show I apparently didn't have a boyfriend."

"And what did you say?"

"Kind of the truth. I said we'd known each other for a while, we'd dated once before but our work got in the way, and now we're trying again."

"That sounds plausible. And did we have sex last night?"

"Can't you tell?"

"I think the answer is no, we didn't, but I feel like crap so I can't really tell."

"We didn't. Thanks," Violet said, standing up and shedding the bustier for the last time. She picked up her pyjama shirt and threw it on, then stepped into her pyjama shorts. Sherlock watched her with interest.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

"Mmm," Violet replied, climbing in next to Sherlock. He made room for her, and they lay facing each other. "I've only had three hours sleep," Violet stated, reaching up and stroking Sherlock's brow. He closed his eyes again.

"Thank you for last night," she whispered.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured. "It was fun."

Violet smirked. "I told everyone at the party that you had got called away on a case when they asked where you were. A lot of them, especially the little old ladies, who all outlasted you I might add, they were all very excited to hear that. I think you have you're own legion of Regency Road fans there."

Sherlock chuckled.

Violet leaned in closer and kissed Sherlock on his cheek, and then on his forehead. She continued caressing his face.

"And what did you do at the party?" Sherlock whispered.

"I danced with Matt."

"Of course you did," Sherlock commented with his eyes still closed.

"Matt kept Alex off me."

"Who's Alex?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes a little.

"Alex Breville."

"Don't know him," Sherlock murmured closing his eyes again.

"The guy who presented my award."

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes again, and breathed out.

"The guy who kept hugging you?"

"Yep."

"Why was he at the after party? I thought it was for the Regency Road cast only," Sherlock said through half-open eyes.

"He was on Regency Road. They killed him off last year."

"Good." Then he added, "How did he die? Did he fall out of a window?"

Puzzled, Violet answered, "No, it was a motorcycle accident."

"Oh, good." Sherlock closed his eyes once more.

Violet started caressing Sherlock's face once again.

"Do you like this?" she asked.

Sherlock's face softened.

"Mmm," he murmured. "But your touch is a bit like a butterfly trying to knock on the door of a rave party at the moment."

Violet laughed. "I've never heard you speak so poetically before.

"Must be hanging around you a bit too much."

"If you were channelling me you would've spiced up your statement with a few more cuss words."

"That's true."

Violet leant in and kissed Sherlock again on his cheek, then continued with little kisses over his forehead, chin, then down to his neck. She kissed his clavicle, then started lightly stroking his chest with her fingertips.

Sherlock gently put his hand over hers, stopping her caresses.

"I'd love to have sex with you right now, but I don't want my heart beating any faster, pumping blood to my head. I fear I'm going to rupture something." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Just sleep," he whispered.

"Okay," Violet whispered back, then turned her back on Sherlock so she could be enveloped in his embrace. They eventually fell asleep like this and dozed for a couple of hours before Sherlock woke briefly to take a trip to the bathroom. He downed an entire bottle of water from the mini bar, then went back to sleep again, only to wake an hour later with an extremely full bladder.

They dozed on and off until about 1pm, when hunger and thirst woke them both. Sherlock showered while Violet called down for room service. Violet then joined Sherlock in the shower, helping him to shampoo the product out of his hair.

They then had hot, sudsy sex in the shower, but due to logistics and space restrictions they finished up in the bedroom, saturating the bedsheets in the process.

Afterwards they cuddled on the couch watching crap day-time telly, nibbling on the assortment of food Violet had ordered. Violet's phone buzzed several times which she chose to ignore. Sherlock was cycling through messages and emails on his phone.

"What's next for Violet Hunter?" he asked, moving her off him, and reaching over for a piece of cheese.

"Hmmm, well, Roddenberry Studios, that's who's producing the Catherine Hilderness drama, will send me a schedule in the next week or so, but they said it'll be about a month before it all gets started. The talent agency have some voice work for me if I want it - kids' TV show or something. Or I can guest DJ in nightclubs or appear on some sort of celebrity challenge show, or none of the above. I don't know. I guess I'm going to be a full-time personal assistant to the great Sherlock Holmes for the next few weeks. What do you think of that?"

"Uh, painful," he said through a mouthful, and without tearing his eyes away from his phone.

"Thank you. What are you working on?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're obviously absorbed in something."

Sherlock grinned. "Lestrade has a sense of humour. Here." He handed Violet his phone.

LESTRADE: [ Mr Hunter, if I could intrude on your newly found celebrity schedule for the moment and request that you visit the Yard any time soon that would be appreciated. Adair case. D.I-L. ]

"Mr Hunter?" Violet remarked, with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock stood up. "To the world I'm probably now known as Sherlock Hunter. Nice work."

"Where are you going? You're not going are you?"

"I think I'll just go for a bit."

"Sherlock, no!"

Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom, calling out, "It's just ten minutes down the road. I won't be long. They've probably lost their fingerprint kit or something."

Violet followed him. Sherlock was changing out of his grey pyjamas and into his regular trousers, shirt and jacket that he had been wearing when he'd checked in the day before.

"But..." Violet sat on the bed, looking quite annoyed.

"But what? We're staying an extra night - you probably need me to pick up some knickers or a hairbrush or something from Baker Street. I can do that on the way back. Besides, I need more nicotine patches." He tapped his arm by way of demonstration.

"Fine," Violet sulked, standing up. "I'll just go see who's still checked in and hang out with them."

She strode out of the room while Sherlock grabbed his coat. He patted his pockets for his phone, then exited the bedroom in search of it. Violet was seated back on the couch, reading messages on her phone. Sherlock bent over and kissed her on her forehead.

"Bye. Be Good!" he said, picking up his phone and putting it into his coat pocket.

"Yeah, goodbye Mr Hunter!"

* * *

"Nice to be working with a celebrity," Lestrade said, grinning.

Sherlock was seated across from him in the D.I's office.

"Adair case?"

"Something's come up in Manchester...a guy by the name of John Douglas: shot in the face with a sawn off shotgun. Not exactly like Adair's case, but there are some elements which might interest you."

"Manchester?"

"So you'll be working with a team from the Greater Manchester force. Might help us solve both cases."

"I don't know that I can, Detective Inspector," Sherlock replied, his mind racing. There is no way Violet would let him investigate an organised crime hit in Manchester. He needed to stall them. He needed a plan. "I'm in the middle of a case right now. There's no way I can leave London for any length of time," he lied.

"Well, think about it Sherlock. I think we really need you on this."

Sherlock stood up. "I'll let you know. I'll make some enquiries from here anyway."

Shit.  
Fuck.  
Dammit.

* * *

When Sherlock returned to the hotel room, it was vacant. Violet had obviously found something to occupy herself with. He unpacked his laptop onto a small dining table, and set to work. He had just started reading a particularly engaging email about a woman being followed on her bicycle, when he heard Violet's phone buzz from the coffee table.

_Wherever she's gone, she didn't need her phone,_ he thought.

He rose from his chair and retrieved the phone, glancing at the screen. A lead weight materialised in the pit of his stomach as he read the message.

JAKE: [ A reply at long last! You don't know how much that means to me. Please ring me when you feel up to it. ]

_A reply? So they're exchanging texts,_ thought Sherlock. Without thinking too much about his next actions, Sherlock unlocked Violet's phoned and scanned the messages between Violet and Jake. There were many, dating back to last year, mostly along the lines of "When are you arriving?" and "2:30 coffee?". But the ones from the last few weeks were, of course, more disturbing:

JAKE: [ Fuck me! I'm so sorry Violet! ]

.

JAKE: [ Please answer. I'm sorry. ]

.

JAKE: [ I swear I'm done with this shit this time. Ring. ]

.

JAKE: [ Call me. ]

.

JAKE: [ Answer your phone. ]

.

JAKE: [ Answer your fucking phone. ]

.

JAKE: [ I'm sorry Violet. ]

.

JAKE: [ I'm seeing a counsellor. Please call. ]

.

JAKE: [ Andrew's in town. Did he ring you? ]

.

JAKE: [ Are you not taking calls from my son now? ]

.

JAKE: [ I've been clean for 2 weeks. Please call. ]

.

JAKE: [ In Manchester? ]

.

JAKE: [ Congratulations! You fucking take my breath away! You looked very happy. You both did. He must be good for you. ]

.

VIOLET: [ Thanks. Glad you're better. x ]

.

JAKE: [ A reply at long last! You don't know how much that means to me. Please ring me when you feel up to it. ]

Sherlock put the phone down. He'd read it now and Violet would know he had since the message was no longer on her screen. He could either delete it, or tell her. His first impulse was to delete Jake's last messasge, but then he thought better of it.

Honesty.

When Violet re-entered the hotel room she found Sherlock seated at a table with his computer open in front of him. Obviously he had picked up a few things from Baker Street. A bag containing an assortment of items lay on the floor nearby.

_Good._

This time he'd obviously remembered the items Violet had requested from the list she'd texted him.

"Hi!" she exclaimed, dropping her shoulder bag onto a chair.

He glanced up.

"Hotel swimming pool?" he asked, looking back at the screen.

"Clever boy," she smirked, walking over to him. She bent down and kissed his forehead.

"Wet hair, chlorine," he stated.

Ignoring him, Violet said, "Heaps of people have stayed on."

"Oh? Like who?" he asked, feigning interest and not removing his eyes from the screen.

"Like... Matt."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to look at Violet. She smirked again. Clearly mentioning Matt's name was her ploy to get Sherlock's attention.

"So you went swimming with Matt?"

"And Nathan, and Chenoa and ... what was her partner's name? You met him. Gus - the I.T. guy."

"Don't remember."

"And Roddy - he's the gaffer, Mindi and Ebony from make-up, Jason, Alex and Kate. Oh and Katelyn with a 'K'.

Missing nothing, Sherlock said, "Alex?"

"Don't worry. He got on with Kate last night apparently. They were all over each other in the pool. Sickening really."

Sherlock turned back to the laptop. "And how come Nathan was there?"

"Well, it's not really a secret amongst all our lot."

"Won't be a secret for long if he's hanging about hotel pools."

"They're all going out for dinner tonight...at the Deckside?"

Sherlock started typing.

"And we're invited..." she continued when Sherlock didn't get the hint.

Sherlock scowled.

"What? You were Mr Socialite last night!"

"And now Mr Socialite has been visited by Mr Hangover." He stopped typing and looked up at her.

"Well you don't have to drink."

"I don't have to socialise either."

He went back to his typing. Violet pouted, then thought she'd find time to work on him later.

"Anyway, I'm having a shower. I didn't want to have one down there. Too crowded."

She noticed her phone on the table, and picked it up. Just as she was walking away and glancing at the screen, Sherlock quickly said, "Jake sent you a message."

"Thought he might," Violet said, and continued walking into the room. When she didn't come back out yelling or crying at Sherlock, he decided that he was safe, and went back to his emails.

Violet came back 20 minutes later, brushing her hair.

"How was the Yard?"

"Good. Everyone is looking at me differently."

"In a good way?"

"Probably. I don't care really. Somebody called me 'sweetheart'."

Violet laughed. "Are you working on a case now?"

Sherlock frowned. "I'm getting a lot of emails now. People asking me to look for their cats or lead pencils or something equally as trivial. Some are even asking how you are."

"Oh. Might be a good time to change your email address then."

"Mmmm," he frowned.

"Well, I think I might need to hire you," Violet said, moving over to an armchair, and sitting down still brushing her hair.

"Pffft," scoffed Sherlock, typing away. "You couldn't afford me."

"I thought it wasn't about the money for you. It was the work."

He turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Then it has to be an interesting case."

"Well it's about me," Violet replied, meeting his gaze.

Sherlock looked at her for a moment. "Oh. You're serious!"

"Yes. I want to hire you."

"You don't have to _hire_ me."

"Well, whatever. I just want your expertise then - directed at something. For me."

"Okay then," he said, rising out of his chair and strolling over. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Violet, expectantly.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" she asked, folding her legs under her.

"Will this take a while?"

"Maybe. I want your undivided attention, like any other client."

Sherlock smirked, then sat down. Rearranging his features into a more serious expression, he placed his elbows on the armrests of the chair, then brought his fingertips together, resting under his chin.

"Go on," he prompted, resisting the urge to add,_ and don't be boring._

"Copper Beeches," Violet began.

"Oh."

"What do you know so far?"

"You mean what have I already found out?"

"Yes."

"The Rucastle family lived there. Jeffery Rucastle slaughtered his family and was then fatally wounded when attacked by the family dog."

"Oh, I didn't know that bit. How awful!"

"I don't think it has any relevance to you though."

"No. Then what?"

"The house stood abandoned for a few years until a consortium turned it into a Mental Institution."

"Oh. Anything else?"

"Only what was in the letter."

"Okay then. I'll start at the beginning."

Violet was silent for a moment, while she gathered her thoughts. Sherlock watched her, wondering where this was heading.

At last she spoke.

"What do you know about my father?"

"Your father?"

"Yes. Any research done on him?"

Sherlock shook his head. "None at all. Mr Hunter. Conveyancer. Strained relationship with his daughter. That's all I know."

"Not Hunter."

"Not?"

"No. Hunter is my mother's maiden name. Paul Edgely is my father."

"Oh." This could be interesting, Sherlock thought.

"Well you know he's my biological father then?"

"I assumed so."

"I only found out that fact when I was 16."

"Oh."

"Let's go back then - way, way back."

Sherlock cleared his throat, but remained staring at Violet.

"My mother - let's call her Therese, as that's her name - she had a romance with Paul Edgely in the time before I was born. One of those all-consuming, heart-wrenching, passionate romances. You know the type," Violet added slyly.

Sherlock smiled faintly at Violet and lowered his hands.

"But Paul had an opportunity to work in Glasgow: a really good leg-up for him. He was at a crossroads - take the job, lose the girl. Therese wouldn't leave London - not the safe haven she knew all her life."

"So he chose the job," Sherlock shrugged as if to say "Obviously."

"Yes. And before he left they had one last round of mind-blowing, good old-fashioned unprotected sex. Actually this is my parents I'm talking about, so that's a bit icky. Anyway, Paul didn't know he'd left Therese pregnant, and she never told him. In her desperation, she ended up with another man who had always been interested in her. Let's call him Charles, as that's his name."

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"So Therese always needed a man to cling to. Sound familiar?"

Sherlock frowned.

"I always think I'm very much like her. I inject my own personality into my image of her whenever I think about her. Is that wrong?"

"Ah, I don't know," Sherlock replied, thinking that if this were a real client he would've said "Moving right along to the time your mother tried to kill herself and you?" But of course, this wasn't his usual client. This was the love of his life sitting in front of him.

"Okay. Well, fast forward to five years later. We are now a happy family of three, although the underlying happiness of Therese Hunter may be disputed. Good old faithful Chuck thinks he has a loving wife and a daughter. Paul Edgely returns, although now he is also married to a woman we shall call Wicked Stepmother, Elise."

Sherlock now rested his chin on one hand, and crossed his legs.

"The wicked stepmother had a son of her own, Ben, two years older than sweet little Violet. Ben is lovely by the way, nothing like his dragon of a mother. He's getting married soon. Did I tell you? Just before John and Mary's wedding."

Sherlock did recall Violet mentioning that fact. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he stores all the useless information Violet tells him. He doesn't necessarily delete that data, because he knows from experience how annoyed Violet can get when he doesn't remember things about her family or other people close to her. He'd reserved a special place in his mind palace for Violet's trivia.

Violet tensed. "It was the wicked stepmother who told me my mother committed suicide."

Sherlock uncrossed his legs and frowned.

Violet continued. "I was always told she died in a car accident when I was five. But when I was a teenager...oh I was horrid I guess."

"Most teenage girls are at one stage or another aren't they?" Sherlock volunteered.

"I suppose so. I always fought with the old dragon. I was pretty emotional when Nick left... when I suspected his father had beat the leaving crap out of him, remember that story?"

"Yes, and nobody would listen to you."

"Especially dragon lady. She said I was pathetic, and emotionally over-dependent, and probably suicidal, like my mother. That's when it all came out."

"That's... tough."

"Mmm. Paul was great though. I'd always secretly wished he were my father."

"Didn't you ever wonder what happened to Charles?"

"They told me he was so upset over my mother dying that he just couldn't be with me for a while. I always imagined the day he would come back to rescue me from the dragon and we'd live happily ever after."

Sherlock thought Wicked step mother, dragons, fairy castles...

"I ran away when I found out it was suicide. I stayed with school friends though. Paul and the dragon had a huge row. They ended up separating, eventually divorcing. When I came back to live with Paul he confessed that he was my real dad. That was pretty tough going for both of us...Anyway, I've got side-tracked..." She frowned, thinking. "Back to when I was five and Paul re-entered Therese's life..."

Violet paused for a second and looked down. Sherlock recognized that look as one in which Violet was trying to compose herself.

"Violet," he said softly.

"It's okay, " she said, trying to smile. Then she wiped a lone tear away. "I forgot to tell you that this client is also one of those annoying ones, prone to crying."

"Oh," Sherlock replied. He stood up and held out his hand. "Well I have a special service I offer to those teary-eyed clients. Come on."

Violet stood up, and Sherlock led her over to the couch. He sat down, stretching his legs out along the couch, and beckoned to Violet to lie down with him.

"I wasn't aware of this service," she said, sniffing and cuddling into his chest.

"It's a new Snuggle with Sherlock service."

"Sherlock Hunter?"

"Yep, that's the one. Continue when you're ready."

Violet breathed out.

"Therese begged Paul to get back with her, but all he could see were complications - there were two families involved now. She told him I was his, but that only made him feel worse, but not change his mind. Then..."

Violet stopped, and buried her face into Sherlock's chest as the tears flowed. Sherlock rubbed her back.

"Okay Violet. It's okay," he whispered.

Violet looked up at Sherlock. "She still loved him. She couldn't let him go." She gazed into Sherlock's eyes then moved up to kiss him. Sherlock cupped one hand around her face and gently kissed her back.

"I love you," she whispered.

Sherlock wiped Violet's stream of tears with his thumb. "I love you, too."

Violet lay back down and sobbed quietly for a while. Sherlock stroked her hair for a bit. Violet lifted her head again.

"She didn't want me," Violet cried.

"Shhh, you don't know that," Sherlock whispered.

"I was a burden to her..."

Sherlock drew her in and kissed the top of her head. "We won't ever know what she was thinking."

"She left a note."

Sherlock paused. He didn't remember anything about a note in the file. Was there one?

Violet wiped her eyes again and sat up. Sherlock sat up with her, but kept his arms around her. He kissed her cheek.

"What can I do to help you?" he asked softly.

"My dad, Paul, didn't know she had been committed to Copper Beeches either. He was told she died in the car crash."

"How did she end up there then?"

"She was committed by her own mother - my grandmother, and her husband, Charles."

"Oh."

"And her suicide note, or whatever it was, told everyone that I was Paul's daughter and that she never loved Charles. I don't know what sort of legal things happened then but I ended up being fostered by Paul and my wicked stepmother. Charles disappeared without a trace. He didn't want to know me. My own grandmother never wanted anything to do with me. My mother was in Copper Beeches, then her mother died some years later and... she..."

Violet broke down again.

"... she was there all alone, and nobody knew... nobody knew or cared! And I... she was alive for ten more years of my life and I never knew..."

"What can I do?" Sherlock asked again.

Violet wiped her eyes, and straightened up.

"Find Charles,' she said. "Find him. I want to know why he left her, why she was never released from Copper Beeches. I want to know her, all about her. And I want to know how Charles could just leave her there."

"Okay," Sherlock said, hugging Violet and kissing her head again. "I'll find Charles for you. I can do that. Okay?"

"Thank you," she whispered.

"What's his surname? Charles what?"

"Adler. Charles Adler."

* * *

**A/N:** thanks gwilwillith for the_ falling out of a window_ inspiration.

And if I can just interrupt this story with an advertisement for another fic I'm writing, in case you don't follow me as an author. It's in no way related to _Copper Beeches:_ it's called _15 minutes_ and is about Sherlock's encounters with a prostitute in a bid to rid him self of the Virgin label and get a bit of experience with sex in response to Mycroft's taunt in A Scandal in Belgravia. Pre-Reichenbach. Go check it out! Thanks!


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

"Why don't you know?" Violet asked, the tea things left abandoned for now. "You always know what to do."

Sherlock rose from his armchair, placing his laptop on it and walking over to join Violet in the kitchen.

"Because this decision doesn't just involve cold hard reason. My feelings for you come into it now." He reached for Violet, giving physical proof to his words and drew her into his embrace. "I don't care about the threats directed at me. That's nothing new. It's you I have to consider."

"So you know what I'm going to say."

"Yes. Don't go."

"So don't go," Violet whispered, leaning in and kissing him.

For Sherlock it wasn't a simple matter of deciding to take up the case or not. He had already taken the case. It was his. He didn't give up on a case until all points had been exhausted. He was sure he had barely scratched the surface on this one.

"Are we having tea or are you taking time out to snog with your geeky boyfriend?" Mandi complained, walking into the kitchen from the landing.

Sherlock and Violet reluctantly pulled apart, and Sherlock walked back into the living room.

"I was coming back up," Violet said sheepishly, turning back to the kitchen bench.

"Geeky boyfriend?" Sherlock asked taking his seat and looking at Mandi through narrow eyes.

Mandi smiled. "Yep. That was one of the articles. Do you want to read them all?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Uh. No," Sherlock replied, opening up his notebook once more.

"Come on then," Violet said to Mandi, holding out a tea cup to her. Sherlock's initial politeness to Mandi was rapidly fading the more often she visited Baker Street. Violet took a cup over to Sherlock and placed it on a side table. She bent over and kissed him on the head saying, "We'll finish talking about Manchester later. Okay?"

"Sure," he said, looking up at Violet and smiling faintly.

Violet followed Mandi back upstairs to her old rooms to look at the Tumblr page Mandi had created, collating all the articles she had found about Violet, Sherlock and the TELSAs.

Sherlock watched them leave, then started typing into Google, "telsas violet hunter".

He tutted as he scanned one headline: REGENCY REBEL IS REALLY POSH!

His brow furrowed as he read:

_Regency Road's favourite teenage rebel played by 25 year old actress Violet Hunter surprised many of the show's fans on Saturday night as she accepted her award for Best Dramatic Scene at the annual TELSAs sporting a rich upper-middle class accent. Her acceptance speech included references to her current boyfriend as "my darling man" and "sweetheart", despite the usually Manc-sounding actress's insistence she was single on breakfast television a few weeks prior. Sources say the couple share a flat in a classy area of central London, a far cry from the terraced house single mum Christa, Hunter's alter ego, shares with her mother on Regency Road._

_Manchester-born actress, Penelope Ryde, says it's nonsense when posh private schooled actors who already have all of life's benefits take parts that should rightly go to Mancunians. Hunter's reps have defended the actress's right to play any part due to "her amazing versatility", but have hinted we may see Hunter playing an upper class young woman in an English period drama. This further fuels rumours already circulating that the formerly raven-haired beauty will be leaving the soap in the near future._

_Violet Hunter showed off her new blonde locks as she took to the red carpet wearing..._

"Rubbish," scoffed Sherlock as he discontinued reading. "Didn't they hear her speak on breakfast TV."

He clicked the Back button and scrolled down for more search results. He tutted and rolled his eyes at the one titled: BEAUTY AND THE GEEK.

He clicked on the article and quickly scanned it before shutting the lid on his notebook in disgust.

"Forensic scientist! Doesn't anybody do their research?"

He then opened it again and scrolled down to the images of Violet and himself at the end of the red carpet - possibly one of the many photos taken by the 15+ photographers who were all bunched up on one side of the photo area. The caption read, "Violet Hunter and her 'sweetheart' Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiled to himself. They'd found out his full name. He'd have more hits to his website now.

* * *

Violet and Sherlock had spent the better part of the week holed up in Baker Street. Neither of them had any real work on. Sherlock ignored the bulk of his emails, letting Violet sift through them for him. She even queried a few of the senders on his behalf, then decided the cases weren't worth pursuing - some of them actually sounding like ruses to get Sherlock to visit lonely, sex-starved women, others were clearly journalists fishing for information about their relationship. Violet felt more aggravated than amused.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had contacted Mycroft for any information he could find on Charles Adler. He was annoyed to be summoned, once again, to his brother's chambers. He thought he'd irritate Mycroft by inviting Violet along. After all, he had nothing to hide from her any more...

...except for the birthday surprise. But happy secrets were good secrets weren't they?

"Are you sure this will be okay?" Violet asked as their taxi left Baker Street.

Sherlock looked angrily out of the window at the photographers they had just left behind on the kerb. This was their first outing this week, and Sherlock hadn't prepared himself to confront paparazzi right outside his flat. Mrs Hudson had mentioned there were three of them to him, but he was ignoring her that morning, because most of her statements were sprinkled with "and Mrs Turner says..."

"Don't know," he replied eventually. "Mycroft will get over it. I hope he's serving tea."

Mycroft was not okay that Sherlock had brought Violet along to his office. His expression said as much. Violet almost burst into laughter at how much she considered Mycroft was like Sherlock - not even polite enough to hide his dissatisfaction.

But then unlike Sherlock, Mycroft transformed himself into a silky, smooth-talking host. He ushered them both into comfy chairs. This time Sherlock obliged by taking a seat when Violet did.

"I congratulate you on your little prize," Mycroft said, smiling at Violet. "Best Dramatic Scene, wasn't it?"

Sherlock tutted at Mycroft's attempt at small talk, and the way in which he strived to belittle everyone around him. And then he caught himself. It wasn't too long ago that he had thought Violet's career choice at playing pretend was an absurd one. Deep down, he knew he still thought that.

"Yes, it was amazing - a big surprise," Violet replied.

"Yes, well it looked like a rather entertaining evening."

"Sherlock enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Mycroft looked in amused interest at his little brother, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Violet.

Mycroft rearranged his features, taking on a business-like manner.

"Your interest in Charles Adler. What case are you working on?" he asked, sitting on his desk, and directing his question at Sherlock.

"I wanted to ask him about my mother. He was married to her," Violet replied before Sherlock could.

Mycroft slowly regarded Violet for a moment.

"Not any more," he stated simply.

Violet opened her mouth to protest when Mycroft continued, looking from Violet to Sherlock as he spoke, "You asked me to delete all records connecting Ms Hunter with any dubious activity. I had to remove her connection to the Adler family." He stopped, picking up a file. "Irene Adler. Heard of her?" He passed the file to Sherlock.

"No," Sherlock replied, taking the file. "Should I have?"

Feeling very uncomfortable, Violet looked across at the file as Sherlock opened it, revealing a portrait or at least a close-up of a surveillance photo, of an attractive brunette, her hair in an elegant twist upon her head.

"She goes by many names. She is professionally known as 'The Woman'."

Sherlock shuffled to the next photo revealing Irene Adler wearing a black corset and stockings with her back to the camera, holding something in her hand.

Violet grew tense, sickened by the contents of Mycroft's files as she remembered the photo she had found of herself on Sherlock's desk. Evidently Sherlock felt the same way, as he closed the file abruptly.

"We're not interested in a woman with a fetish for whips. We only want to know about Charles Adler."

He returned the file to Mycroft. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and placed the file back on his desk.

"Charles Adler died in Australia 13 years ago. He was bitten by a king brown on his property in the Northern Territory. He is survived by his wife and two children."

Violet's heart sank. The man she had considered her father for more than half of her life had also lived and died without her knowledge. And he had taken a new wife, and fathered two more children. Well, two children, as Violet wasn't his. Sherlock reached across and took her hand. This gesture of comfort surprised Mycroft.

"How is he related to this Irene Adler?" Violet asked. She was still intrigued. Sherlock sighed.

"Irene is his niece. Charles Adler's older brother lives on the West Coast of the United States. Irene is his eldest daughter. He also has a son and a younger daughter."

Violet thought for a moment. She couldn't ever recall having any cousins. Both her natural parents had no siblings.

"Can I have contact details for Charles' brother then?"

Sherlock turned to her, raising his eyebrows, as Mycroft rifled through Irene Adler's file.

"What? He may know something," she said, turning to Sherlock in response.

"If you think so," Sherlock said quietly. He removed his hand.

Mycroft looked up at this small exchange, a hint of amusement on his face. He showed Violet a piece of paper, saying, "You'll find that this has his most current residential address, phone numbers and email address. I'll just get a copy made for you."

He exited the rooming leaving Violet and Sherlock.

"He died thirteen years ago, when I was twelve."

"You as a twelve year old," Sherlock muttered to himself.

Violet tried to recall what she was doing and thinking as a twelve year old. Primary school. Teasing boys. Whispering secrets to girlfriends. Just starting to talk back to her foster parents. Teasing Ben, as his voice was changing. Probably no longer having daydreams about the day her father, Charles that is, would come back to rescue her.

Violet reflected on the cousins she didn't know. Surely they would've heard about her? They were cousins for a few years of her young life, surely. And Irene Adler looked older than her. Did they live in the U.S. then? Or the U.K. ?

Feeling curious, Violet stood up and opened the Adler file.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, also standing up.

"I know I'm not related to her but... this is a bit saucy isn't it? I wonder why they're..."

"Violet!" Sherlock hissed. "It's not relevant!" He closed the file in front of her as Mycroft returned.

"Here you are," he said, pretending he didn't notice Sherlock and Violet looking at the file. "I hope that helps you in your little adventure. Don't hesitate to call on me if there's anything else I can assist you with."

"Thanks Mycroft!" Violet said.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said with a soft smile. He walked them to the door and opened it for them. Violet stopped, then took a step back and kissed Mycroft on the cheek.

"Lovely to meet you!" she exclaimed and continued walking out the door. Sherlock chuckled at Mycroft's look of alarm.

"La'er!" he called back and followed Violet.

* * *

Violet felt satisfied. She had something now, even something as simple as contact details for her mother's brother-in-law. It somehow connected her to her mum in a tangible way. She tried to convince Sherlock that they should stop for coffee somewhere, now that they had gone to the trouble of venturing outside together.

"What does it matter if anyone photographs us together? We're already all over the internet, and I want to have coffee! With you!" she added, in case she sounded unreasonably demanding.

"All right. As long as it's a small, dark coffee shop and we can sit at the back."

"I know! Let's go to one of those really snobby, upmarket ones, now that I'm so posh! There's one near the place we got your tuxedo from."

Sherlock scowled as he noticed more people glancing at them as they made their away along the street. He didn't know if they were looking at him because he was scowling at them, or if they recognized the couple. He decided to pretend to not notice other people as Violet was doing. Although he began to realize that Violet really didn't notice them as she was doing a lot of window shopping and pointing out things to Sherlock which he wasn't paying any attention to, because he was still too self-conscious.

"Across the road!" Violet pointed.

It wasn't a particularly busy coffee shop, but it looked posh enough for Violet so that there wouldn't be just any riff-raff inside, Sherlock concluded. And they were able to secure a table in a dark corner, even though Violet indicated that the more snobby area would be out on the terrace so you could be seen.

The seating wasn't ideal at this corner table. Violet and Sherlock sat on either side of a corner, so they were nearer to each other than if they had sat across from one another. There was a rather large pot plant placed on one side of their table preventing this seating arrangement. Sherlock didn't mind - the leafy barrier provided them with more privacy.

Once they were seated and had given their orders Violet took the piece of paper Mycroft had given her out of her handbag. Sherlock started checking messages and emails on his phone.

"Sherlock," Violet said eventually.

"Mmm?" he asked without looking up.

"How would you like to accompany me on a trip to Los Angeles?"

Sherlock sighed and put down his phone.

"You want to go all the way to L.A. when just a phone call or email would suffice?"

"There must have been a wedding. People take photos at weddings. They might have photos."

"And they might not."

"I want to meet him face to face. He would've known about a niece shortly after I was born. There must've been a huge scandal in the family when the... accident happened, and everything."

She looked down and fiddled with her napkin. Sherlock reached over and took her hand in his.

"This might not be all good news, Violet."

"I know. I can take it. I mean, how much worse can my fucked up life be?"

She remained looking down, her mouth drawn in a thin line, her other features hardened.

"Violet," Sherlock whispered softly, "Don't say that. What am I? What have we got? Look at what just happened this weekend. See how far you've come. Your mother would've been proud of you. Anyone would be." Sherlock leaned in close to Violet. "I am."

She looked up at him, and smiled faintly. Sherlock leant in and kissed her, moving his hand to cradle her face, so he could kiss her deeply. He didn't want her to keep finding things to be sad about. It seemed she only allowed herself a small moment of happiness before something from her past, or some small slight in her present caused her to falter.

Violet returned his kiss, and put her hand over his. She pulled away, smiling again.

"I guess I shouldn't get all emotional when we're out in public. They'll be falling all over themselves making up some story about it."

"Violet Hunter Cries Over Spillt Milk," Sherlock said, holding Violet's hand again.

"Violet and Sherlock Hunter Investigate Missing Teaspoons in Posh Cafe."

They unclasped their hands as a waiter brought their coffees over and the slice of cherry ripe Violet had ordered to share with Sherlock, although Sherlock had turned his nose up at it. The waiter seemed to linger a bit longer than necessary, causing Violet to start giggling.

"So, L.A. ?" Sherlock said, after they were alone again.

"Please say yes! You don't really have anything on. I've got a few weeks free too. It will be a lovely holiday even if nothing else. And nobody will know us! Just a week or two!"

Sherlock sat back and slowly stirred his coffee. This was an unknown custom to him. Going somewhere for no other purpose than to exist in a different place. His travel experiences had been wide and varied, but always for work. There was no other point in leaving London and Baker Street other than for work.

Obviously this was a little bit like work - Violet's case. But really there was nothing more she required than conversation with a pseudo uncle she'd never recalled meeting, so technically it didn't really require Sherlock in his Consulting Detective capacity.

No, it required Sherlock Holmes in his role as a supportive boyfriend.

_So, a holiday it is then._

"One week?" he said.

Violet grinned. "Ten days?"

"Eight?"

"Yay!" she reached across and kissed him. "How soon can we go?" she asked clapping her hands. "Oh! Hollywood!"

As soon as possible, Sherlock thought. There's no way he could put up with Violet and her enthusiastic planning for very long. The more she scheduled for them, the longer they'd have to stay.

* * *

Sherlock tried to block out Mandi's excited squeals by pressing his index finger into his ear while pretending to lean on his hand as he stared at his computer. He was sitting in his armchair while Violet and Mandi were seated on the couch looking up tourist destination spots on the West Coast. Violet didn't want to take Mandi upstairs because she thought Sherlock may like to join in the conversation about planning for their trip. She thought wrong.

"I don't believe you get to go to the U.S. without me! Bloody Gavin took me to see his family in Yorkshire the other week. Yorkshire!"

Sherlock sighed.

"And now you get to go to Hollywood! You pick the good ones, Vi! First Jake shouts us a holiday to Australia and now..." she broke off as Violet thumped her. But it was too late. Violet knew Sherlock heard her. The twitching of his fingers had momentarily stopped.

"Rodeo Drive is a good place to shop, I hear," Mandi pressed on, knowing when to change the subject. Violet looked over at Sherlock. He had resumed his finger tapping.

"Click on that Destination L.A. link," Violet said to Mandi as she stood up and made her way to the kitchen. "I'll put the kettle on."

Violet filled up the kettle and turned it on. She then went over to Sherlock and perched on the arm of his chair. He put his arm around her, feeling fairly safe he could remove his finger from his ear now.

"I know you heard," Violet whispered, leaning in to him.

"I did. I don't care," Sherlock looked up at Violet. She smiled at him and couldn't resist leaning down and kissing him.

"Hey, if you're going to start all that mushy sweetheart stuff, I'm leaving!" Mandi called.

"Oh, just you shush!" Violet called back, getting up from Sherlock's chair.

* * *

It was set then. They were flying out on Wednesday night, so Violet had effectively two days to get everything she needed. Annoyingly Sherlock had to dash out for a case. He wouldn't give her any details except to say it was urgent, but he wouldn't be long.

Violet sorted through her clothes trying to decide how much warmer the weather would be in L.A. than London. Of course it was early spring there too. She started to feel anxious when she thought about when would be a good time during their trip to make contact with her "uncle". What should she say?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone buzzing.

SHERLOCK: [ Coming back from case. Meet me in Peking Palace, Grey Road, for dinner 8:30pm. SH ]

_8:30_? thought Violet. It was seven now. What a pain. Firstly, she wanted to sort her clothes so she'll know what she needed to buy still, secondly, she wanted to eat now, and thirdly, she would be too tired for a night out. Still, Sherlock very rarely took her out anywhere, so this would be something to make an effort for.

She continued looking through her clothes but then got sidetracked once she started researching L.A weather, then shopping in L.A. Before she knew it, it was 7:45 and she hadn't showered.

_Damn!_ Violet had a very quick shower, threw on a short knitted dress, and hoped the restaurant would be warm, because she didn't want to bother with tights as she couldn't find any to match. She called for a cab, then waited downstairs, having a quick chat to Mrs Hudson. Her landlady was all flustered about Sherlock and Violet taking off for the U.S. all of a sudden, but Violet assured her that this may be the only opportunity they'd have for a romantic getaway for a while.

Violet's taxi arrived, and she wondered if she'd be late. She had 15 minutes to get across town. She hadn't been to the Peking Palace before, but the name sounded familiar. Oddly enough she thought it was one John mentioned when he was explaining about a case, but surely that wouldn't be one Sherlock would pick for a date?

The taxi pulled up outside the restaurant at precisely 8:29. Violet paid the fare and slowly got out. She wished she'd looked around first, because this didn't seem to be the sort of place Sherlock would bring her to at all. All of the shops around her were closed. There was nobody in sight. The restaurant looked like they weren't even open. Violet peered at the sign on the door, confirming her suspicions: Closed Mondays.

_Dammit!_

Most Chinese restaurants were closed Mondays. She was just about to text Sherlock when the tinkling of little bells above the door signaled it opening. One Chinese lady in the back at the shop was yelling in Cantonese at the young lady who had opened the door to the street.

"You Violet?" she asked.

"Yes," Violet answered, confused.

"Note," the lady said, holding out a piece of paper to her.

Violet took the note and opened it as the lady closed and locked the door to the restaurant leaving Violet alone once more on the street. She also turned off the lights inside, so Violet was almost left in darkness. She opened the note, then used the light of her phone to read it.

_ [ Change of venue, sorry! A late birthday present. Walk 100m down the street toward lanterns. Phone has no signal. SH ]_

_What the fuck?_ It was definitely Sherlock's handwriting, but... late birthday present? Violet couldn't see that there was any life down the street either. Surely no restaurants or cafes were open in this neighborhood. She looked in both directions along the street. The lanterns were hanging over the darker end. Of course.

_One hundred metres. What's that at a sprint for a young woman such as myself. 12 seconds? 15?_ This was such a badly lit and seedy street, Violet didn't think she could brave this trek into darkness.

She started walking, wishing she'd found even a pair of mismatched tights, for her bare legs were starting to feel the cold. She thought she'd be indoors by now. Luckily there was no breeze tonight, only a cool snap in the air. Her boots crunched on the uneven gravelled pavement, occasionally kicking up loose stones as she walked.

Violet looked up at the shops as she went by, all closed - an Asian grocery store on one side, an apothecary on the other, next a gift store, with Lucky Cats, a variety of gold and white ones, waving their arms at her as she passed by. Silk shirts and cheongsams on sale at the Oriental Emporium, another restaurant and takeaway store, the metal hooks in the window hanging empty - their roast ducks having been removed earlier that evening.

_Was this one hundred metres?_

She looked around, but the unlit street behind her offered little visibility back the way she came.

_Fuck, Sherlock. What is this?_ What if it were a trick? An enemy of Sherlock's trying to lure his girlfriend into a trap to seek revenge on the detective. Seemed kind of elaborate. Why not just grab her in the street? Why make her walk 100m in semi-darkness, scaring the bejesus out of her. Unless that was the point.

Sherlock would be so disappointed in her for falling for such a dodgy scheme. _Really Violet,_ he'd say as he swooped in to save her, untying her bonds and giving her a stern look. _Do you really think I'd write you a note by hand,_ or some obvious error she'd missed.

Violet took out Sherlock's note once again. She stopped for a moment to shine the light of her phone on the paper. Definitely Sherlock's handwriting. He'd once scrawled over one of her scripts - adding his own little contributions, commenting where he thought a particular character would be behaving inconsistently with their established personality. Then he'd put sticky notes on things once he'd found the post-it notepad Violet had bought in her stationery purchases (one of her little duties as his personal assistant). He thought they were a wonderful invention and preceded to make notes and stick them all over the place, even in the bathroom. Violet confiscated the notepad and never bought them again. She'd queried him on why he hadn't encountered sticky notes before, not even in his days at uni.

"Why would I need to mark pages in books?" he had argued. "I remember what page information is written on, and besides, I didn't need to re-read something I'd already committed to memory. And if it wasn't in my memory then it was irrelevant."

_Of course it was, Rain Man._

Violet peered at the words Sherlock had used in his note to her. No badly used or misplaced words. Nothing odd which could be interpreted in some other way. She turned the paper over. His note was written on the back of a takeaway menu. Violet scanned the menu methodically. No items circled or highlighted. No underlining of _Chicken Chow Mein with a Get the Fuck Outta Here Violet Sauce._

No, nothing. Surely Sherlock couldn't be angry with her for missing some vital clue that this was a trap and he'd been forced to text her and write a note under duress. It would be his fault that he wasn't clever enough to leave something even she could work out.

She kept walking, a little slower than before. Suddenly she heard slow footsteps approaching from the side. She turned her head, hardly breathing. A figure emerged from the shadows of an alley.

_Sherlock!_

"Happy birthday, Violet," he said in a low voice, walking toward her, wearing a t-shirt one size too small, tight-fitting black jeans and boots.

* * *

.

**A/N**: _Trek into darkness_... I am hilarious!


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

Violet put trembling hands to her face. Her first reaction was relief: that it was all Sherlock's doing - the phone message, the handwritten note, the bizarre rendezvous point. Her second: surprise at Sherlock's attire. Her third reaction, the one Sherlock was hoping for: lustful desire, was still a few minutes away.

"Sherlock!" she managed to say faintly.

Sherlock strolled out of the darkened alley, into the semi-lit street. "Come on," he whispered seductively. "Your birthday present is this way."

He took her by the hand and led her along the short alleyway, whose dead end opened up a little wider on either side. Violet looked up. Tall apartment blocks surrounded them on three sides. The alley was unevenly lit by the lights filtering through small glazed windows, all exactly the same size and shape, rising higher and higher amongst the brickwork. Sherlock stopped in a particularly dark corner. He turned to face her.

"A belated birthday present," he said softly, and took her other hand in his. He bent down and lightly kissed her lips, then straightened up, his eyes searching hers for a response.

"You scared me," Violet replied, her heart still beating fiercely in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Violet. I was watching you the whole time."

"But what if I didn't get out of the taxi? What if I didn't want to walk down the street? It's so..."

"That's a risk I was willing to take. I would've phoned you if you didn't do as expected."

"But your phone has no signal!"

"That was a lie," he grinned in the semi-darkness.

Violet breathed out, only now starting to feel relaxed. Sherlock was in control of her fate the entire time, she realised.

"Let me see you," she ventured.

Sherlock dropped her hands and walked into a semi-lit space. He was wearing the t-shirt she had bought him for Matt's 21st, his chest outlined under the thin fabric. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets, as much as he could in those tight-fitting, black jeans. He gazed at Violet impassively, which only served to make Violet's heart race again for a very different reason. He backed away from her, entering darkness again.

"If you want your present," his voice carried over to her, "you'll have to come over here."

Violet quickly looked around. Darkness enveloped her from every side, except for the blotches of light here and there. She looked up. No one in the apartments was looking out of their window. They didn't appear to be the kind of windows you could look out of anyway. This was hardly the side of their flats which you would call 'the view'. Bathroom windows, probably. Faint sounds of television sets drifted into the alleyway, interspersed with the odd bellow or exclamation from the residents.

She slowly walked over to where Sherlock's voice had beckoned her from. He appeared to be leaning against the brickwork. She could only just make him out once she herself was pressed up against him. Violet placed her hands on his chest and tilted her head up at Sherlock.

"What's my present?" she asked.

"Me," he stated, bending down to kiss her once more.

Violet grasped Sherlock's t-shirt and returned his kiss, his warm mouth on hers and his searching tongue sending shivers along her spine and a fluttering sensation down into her stomach and beyond. She let one hand drift down the flimsy fabric of Sherlock's t-shirt, then back up, underneath the shirt, her hand gliding over the smoothness of his chest, taking in the light curls of his chest hair.

Sherlock felt much more impatient for things to progress than Violet. He had spent a lot more time thinking about how things would pan out this evening, imagining the scenario of Violet finding him in the alleyway, rehearsing the sex in his mind. His arousal was hard for Violet to miss as he pressed her against him, hoping to speed things up a bit.

"I want to see you again," Violet whispered. She pulled him toward her by the waistband of his jeans as she stepped backwards into a dimly lit space.

Sherlock grasped one of Violet's hands and placed it against the obvious bulge, his jeans hiding nothing.

"Un-do it, now," his voice rasped, "it's... it's hurting. The jeans are so fuckin' tight."

Violet eagerly obliged, unbuckling his belt, slipping the button through its hole, then slowly pulling at the zipper, revealing his boxers. She slid her hand inside, as Sherlock moaned and tangled his hands in her hair.

"Sherlock," she whispered hungrily.

"Back here," he murmured, stepping backwards, and pulling Violet with him into the darkness and against the wall once more.

She wanted him now. Third reaction: carnal lust, complete.

Violet worked her hand against him, Sherlock sighing as the pressure of his erection against the restrictive fabric of his jeans had been relieved and replaced with his lover's deft touch. He resumed kissing Violet again, running his hands up and down her back lightly, then ventured lower over her curves to the hem of her dress. _What was she wearing,_ he thought. _Just a short dress, no tights, how very convenient and accessible. _He slowly edged her dress up, but Violet had other plans. While Sherlock tried to kiss her mouth, her throat and her neck, Violet removed her hand from Sherlock's boxers and placed her hands on either side of his waistband to begin the awkward task of lowering Sherlock's jeans over his hips a little. She required more access, she thought.

Someone up in the flats called out to their wife, sister, or daughter. There was laughter, punctuated by shrieking. Sounds of humanity hidden behind brick and glazed glass.

Sherlock's hands were under her dress now, softly caressing her buttocks, then he fingered the flimsy lace of her thong. His next step was thwarted however, as Violet lowered herself to her knees, taking Sherlock in her mouth.

"No," he groaned, "not yet." But he tangled his fingers in Violet's hair anyway, leaning his head back against the rough bricks. This was too soon, he thought, his eyes fluttering shut. _Not yet, too soon, oh God, Violet, not yet. _But her tongue, her lips, the pressure. His breath became heavier and he held Violet around the base of her neck, gently stroking her there encouragingly. _Damn these jeans, _he also thought, in between moments of bliss and having no coherent thoughts at all. They were still sitting tightly around his pelvis, despite Violet's best efforts. Sherlock shoved his thumbs into the waistband, gently lowering them further. But then he felt panicky again.

"Don't," he managed to gasp again. "Don't."

He gently lifted her face away, and encouraged her to stand up again.

"No, I won't last," he whispered. "It's your birthday."

He pulled his boxers back up, leaving his jeans where they were. _No point in adjusting them again later, _he thought. He pulled Violet toward him, kissing and biting her neck as he massaged her breasts through her dress. He wanted the dress off. He wanted to tear it away so badly. _But then she'll be cold, _he thought practically. So he slid her dress upwards again.

"Mmm," Violet moaned as Sherlock started backing her into another space. They stopped when she felt her leg hit something. Sherlock's hands were under her dress, inching down her underwear. Violet stepped out of them as Sherlock caressed her underneath her dress.

"Sit down," he whispered.

"What?"

"Down. There's a crate under you."

Violet couldn't see a thing, but Sherlock helped lower her down onto a rough, wooden surface. A crate. Evidently Sherlock had scouted this whole area earlier. He had commited the layout of the entire alleyway to memory, and knew where every object was even in the inky blackness, and had already imagined for what purpose they could serve in his little sexual liaison with the birthday girl.

"Sit back," he instructed, "Relax."

Violet rested back on her elbows as Sherlock gently set to work.

"Oh!" gasped Violet, looking up at the stars. She arched her back. "Sherlock..." This is so fuckin' good. _How does the man know how well to do this. _"Oh, just ... there... oh!"

His hands were all over her as well as his tongue.

"God, oh.. don't stop..." she whispered, conscious of her gasps and moans floating up to the tenants of the flats.

Violet had a quick vision of them all going about their lives, doing dishes, bathing children, watching telly. Hell, watching reruns of Violet on telly while her she was here, amongst their empty boxes and dumpsters, lying with her legs spread on a crate below them while her boyfriend pleasured her so so amazingly well with his tongue.

"Oh fuck..." she gasped again. "No, don't.. stop. No, stop. I want you. Uh, please! God!"

She grabbed his hair, probably a bit too harshly, but she wanted, needed, him to stop now.

"Come up," she panted, tugging at his shirt. She sat up herself. "Now, over by the wall."

She needed the wall. She wanted him to fuck her hard against the wall again. Like in the underground. Sherlock already knew this, and he moved swiftly to back her up against the wall, then not missing a beat, thrust into her. No searching for condoms tonight. They were in silence again, shallow breaths, panting with every thrust.

Laughter in the street, the sound of footfalls, hollering and breaking glass. Sherlock froze, mid-thrust. As the sounds died away, they resumed their rhythm again. Violet had found another crate on which she could place one foot, while her other remained on the ground so that Sherlock didn't have to hold her all weight. This allowed her to offer him some resistance as she moved against him.

"Harder!" she whispered.

"No, I'm..."

A male voice broke through the silence, "I'M GOING TO FUCKIN' KILL YOU, YOU WHORE!"

Smashing glass, furniture being tossed. Then, silence once more.

Sherlock had stopped again.

"Don't stop," Violet whispered encouragingly. "Fuck me, Sherlock! Please!"

"You have..." he breathed, resuming at his original pace, "such good..." he thrust again, "... manners."

This sent Violet off in a fit of giggles. She grabbed at Sherlock's shirt, unable to continue. "I'm sorry," she laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... keep going."

But she didn't stop giggling. Her body trembled under Sherlock as the reality of their surroundings got to her at last.

"I'm sorry."

She tried to take a deep breath, while Sherlock stopped, but remained inside her. He was waiting for her to compose herself. She imagined his expression, because it was too dark to see him clearly, as one of mild irritation, thin lips, creases between his eyebrows, waiting for Violet's immature behaviour to cease. She entwined her arms around his neck, pulling him in tight, "I'm sorry, I love you," she whispered in his ear. "I love you."

She kissed him on his cheek, then cradling his face in her hands, she passionately locked lips with him, her tongue servicing Sherlock's until he slowly resumed his rocking into her.

Violet leant her head back against the wall, wishing she could see Sherlock better. She let her hands run down his back, then slipped under his shirt, to caress his bare skin. The jeans! She needed to visualize Sherlock in his tight jeans again. Her hands slid further south til they rested upon the top of the waistband, which hung low on his hips. She slipped them into the back of the jeans, grabbing his buttocks so she could pull him in harder and faster. He seemed to appreciate that - Violet's forceful grip encouraging him. Sherlock lifted Violet's other leg, the one which was on firm ground, enabling him to penetrating deeper. Violet gasped. They rode together for a while, in silence, increasing in tempo, excitement mounting, until Sherlock was sure he was going to go first. But he wanted to hold off until Violet was ready. He breathed deeply, then thrust a little shallower until Violet panted, "No, harder!"

That was the green light he needed. Completely abandoning himself to her he pushed in harder and faster until they both came in gasps and moans, Sherlock's stifled in Violet's neck, hers against his.

They held fast together, Violet lifting her head and looking up at the stars again. This is how it should be done. Outside. In amongst it. The thriving, bleeding, pulsating, hungry city.

A cry caught in her throat and she put her hand to her mouth to stifle it.

"Violet, what is it?" Sherlock hissed, immediately looking around, assuming Violet had seen someone again.

But she shook her head.

"That was the most romantic birthday present I've ever had," she managed to whisper.

Sherlock hugged her hard.

That was true, she thought, but that's not what made her cry. Her hunger for sex in an alleyway with Sherlock. The attraction, the danger, the orgasm. Her brain made the connection at last.

The rush.

The orgasmic heroin rush.

Shooting up under the stars, sometimes on rooftops, sometimes in alleyways, with Em, or Em and Riley. So much better than their filthy flat.

Leaning against the rough, hard-edged bricks. Feeling the needle penetrate the skin, pierce her vein. The thrust of the syringe, driving the poison until it hit her brain. Her whole body alight, then numb. Every painful feeling, worry or ache disappearing. Sighing that deep sigh of satisfaction. Opening her eyes and seeing the stars. And there it was.

She breathed out and clung to Sherlock. Tears stung her eyes.

No. She needn't tell Sherlock she had made that connection.

Sherlock was her drug of choice now.

"I'm sorry I missed it," he was saying. "I hope that makes up for missing it."

Violet allowed herself to smile inwardly. She pulled away from him, saying, "Sherlock, I think you also missed Valentines Day!"

He pulled her in for a hug again, and laughed his low rumbling laugh into her neck.

"Come on," he said. "Make yourself presentable to the world again, Ms Hunter. We should go. This place really picks up after about nine o'clock.

"I can't see anything."

"On to it," he said, moving away from her. Light beams from a small torch shone down on the ground suddenly. Sherlock was well-equipped this time.

"There," he said, pointing the beam of light to a spot on the concrete - her black, lacy underwear.

Sherlock also found his coat he'd set aside earlier that evening. His plan at the start of the evening was to make his presence known to Violet in just his t-shirt and jeans. Violet smoothed out her dress, and reached up, pulling out her loose bun, which was even looser now, and re-doing it.

"All ready," she whispered.

Sherlock gave Violet his coat to wear, then grabbed her hand, and they exited the alleyway, turning left along Grey Street, heading back the way Violet had walked earlier. Hand in hand with Sherlock, the empty street didn't seem anywhere near as seedy.

"Why were you staring at my note for the second time? Couldn't you read my handwriting?" he asked.

"Yes, but I wasn't sure it was from you at first. I was just checking, because, you know... this was such an odd request."

"Yes, well I had to think up reasons to get you to walk toward a deserted alleyway. Having you meet me at this particular Chinese restaurant seemed the only slightly plausible option. I had to make it late enough that there wasn't anybody else around, but not too late that the nocturnal inhabitants had arisen. I spent all afternoon scouring the inner city for the perfect alleyway - one which wasn't a thoroughfare, had no obvious windows opening onto it, poorly lit, empty of itinerants, but not full of garbage. The list goes on..."

"You spent... all afternoon?"

"Yes."

"The case?"

"This was the case."

Violet stopped walking and turned to Sherlock again. She threw her arms around him, pulling him in tightly, and didn't say a word. Sherlock rubbed her back. Her trembling body told him she was silently crying once more. _Those happy tears again,_ he thought.

"Come on," he whispered. "Are you hungry? I know a good Chinese restaurant just up the street here..."

Violet laughed, clutching his hand again. She wiped her tears away as they approached the darkened restaurant.

"But it's closed," she said sadly.

"This way," he said, walking past, then stopping outside a door alongside the restaurant. He pushed on the faded red paint. The door creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase. "Upstairs."

"Sherlock! This is where they live."

"Obviously."

"But..."

He pulled her along anyway, Violet still protesting quietly. They reached the top and were on a small landing. Sherlock quietly knocked on the door. There were voices inside, then suddenly the door opened.

"Hello!" Sherlock said, beaming. Violet stood just behind him slightly, feeling very awkward.

"Ah, Mr Holmes!" a Chinese gentlemen remarked. He was wearing a knitted jumper, loose trousers and slippers. Looks like he was all set for a relaxing evening.

"Good evening, Mr Wu," Sherlock greeted the older man enthusiastically.

Mr Wu turned around and yelled something in Cantonese to his family inside. Excited babbling arose from within. An old lady, Violet assumed his wife, bustled up, holding a plastic bag with what looked like takeaway containers of food. She held them out to Sherlock, who said, "Wonderful, thank you Mrs Wu!"

She smiled broadly at him, and said something to him in Cantonese, which her husband then turned to her and scolded her, also in Cantonese.

Sherlock moved aside slightly, presenting Violet with the words, "Christa!"

"Oh, Christa!" the wife murmured, then she turned and yelled back into the house. Two more eager female faces joined them.

"Christa!" they said, smiling at Violet.

"Hello," Violet said, feeling in Wonderland.

"Sod off!" said one woman.

"Sod off?" said the other, looking at Violet. They all looked at Violet expectantly.

So Violet tentatively replied in her best Manc accent, "Sod off!"

They all cheered and clapped their hands, whereupon Sherlock smiled and said, "Well goodnight and thank you!"

They waved and as the door closed Violet could hear calls of 'Sod off' from within.

"Dinner?" Sherlock announced proudly, holding up the bag.

"You live in a strange world, Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

"It's just a farewell dinner," Violet said exasperatedly.

"It's a trap! Before you know it they'll have us playing a round of Scrabble, and we all know where that will lead!"

Violet laughed. "Where?"

"Pictionary!" Sherlock spat in disgust.

"Sherlock! It's dinner with John and Mary! How many times have you shared a meal with John?"

"That's irrelevant. It's a couples dinner. Couples dinners always degenerate into board games."

Violet hugged Sherlock, then kissed him on his temple.

"It's John! When have you known John to play a board game?"

"We played Cluedo once."

Violet sighed and rose from her position on Sherlock's lap. He had been brooding in his armchair all morning at the thought of the dinner invitation Violet had accepted on their behalf.

"They just want to say goodbye before we go on our trip. Lots of people do that when their friends are going on a big holiday."

_Holiday_, thought Sherlock. _And there lies the other problem._

He rose from his chair as Violet slowly filled the sink with sudsy water.

"We haven't had dinner with John and Mary since we got back together. Actually we've never had dinner together. This will be nice," she said over her shoulder.

Sherlock sulked and busied himself by uncharacteristically collecting the glasses, cups and plates which were scattered around the flat.

"It's a couples dinner," he muttered.

Violet stopped what she was doing and slowly walked over to Sherlock.

"Oh Sherlock," she remarked condescendingly, "Did some mean girlfriend of yours at university make you go to a couples dinner? Hmm?"

She wrapped her arms around him, and raised her eyebrows sympathetically.

"Maybe," Sherlock replied eventually. "And that signalled the beginning of the end of my dating career. I despised all relationships and attachments after that."

"My poor Sherlock," Violet said soothingly, caressing his face, "That must've been hell for you."

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously.

"It was," he said, unlocking Violet's arms from around him and stalking off toward the kitchen.

"What if I promise not to engage in any after dinner games?" she asked, turning to him.

Sherlock sighed. There was no getting out of this. It was happening whether he liked it or not. At what point in their relationship would he starting forcing Violet to do something she didn't want to do?

"This isn't just for me, it's for us! And it's a nice gesture from both John and Mary. John! He's your... you're his best man!"

Not the reassuring words Sherlock wanted to hear. He rolled his eyes as he placed the dishes into the sink.

"Fine," he muttered under his breath.

"Thank you!" Violet came up beside him and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going to have a shower, and then I've got to go shopping for some things for the trip," she said quickly, on her way through the kitchen. "I'll pick up a bottle of wine while I'm out. Oh!" she stopped, turning around and thinking. "We need to bring a salad. Can you make one?"

"Mmm," responded Sherlock, washing the dishes and not turning around.

"Can you?" Violet reiterated, in case he didn't hear her properly.

"I said yes."

"A fancy one? From a recipe?"

Sherlock stopped and looked at her.

"Or a plain one," she added quickly, thinking she shouldn't push her luck. "There may be some ingredients for a garden salad in the fridge."

"A garden salad."

"Yes. Lettuce, tomato..."

"I know what a garden salad is."

"Good. Can you?"

Sherlock sighed and turned back to the sink. "Yes."

"Great! Check the fridge and let me know if there's anything I have to pick up," she yelled over her shoulder as she exited the kitchen for Sherlock's bedroom.

When Violet returned from her shower, all dressed and ready for her morning of shopping, she found Sherlock seated at the dining table, peering into his microscope.

"What are you doing?" she asked, rummaging in her bag for her lip gloss.

"While I was checking the freezer I came upon this bag of ears. I was just going to..."

"Don't!" Violet called, rushing out the door. "Gross! I don't want to hear it! Text me if you need anything!" she called back from the stairwell.

* * *

"No, this one! The lettuce in that one looks limp!" Violet said angrily, picking up the container of pre-made salad from the supermarket shelf. "Let's go, that's all!"

She stalked off. Sherlock stopped to examine a packet of dried apricots along the way. _Looks like dried ears,_ he thought. He was in no hurry to catch up with Violet. She was in a fine mood after returning from her shopping to find Sherlock stretched out on the couch, still clad in pyjamas, no sign of a salad in sight. Furthermore, there were no ingredients in the fridge either.

Sherlock learnt a few more colourful and descriptive swear words from Violet that afternoon.

He met her just outside the checkout, raising his eyebrows at her and smiling faintly, hoping to get a warmer response from her now that the crisis was averted.

He still had a lot to learn.

She strode out onto the pavement.

"Bowl," she commanded, handing Sherlock the salad bowl to hold for her that she had also purchased. Sherlock watched as Violet tore open the packaged salad, and tipped the contents into the bowl. She then walked over to a bin in the street and tossed the empty packet into it.

"Isn't this dishonest?" Sherlock ventured.

"No. Saying that you're going to make a salad and will check for the ingredients so you can text your girlfriend if you need her to bring anything home for it but then spending the day lying on the fuckin' couch and not doing any of that is dishonest.

"This is still dishonest," Sherlock argued, slightly less vehemently than Violet.

"Whatever, Sherlock," Violet snapped, grabbing the bowl from him. "Just hail the fuckin' cab so we can get going."

At least she's calmed down considerably, Sherlock thought as he raised his hand and called 'Taxi!'. She only used two f-words in that conversation. A vast improvement on the earful he received back at the flat.

They rode in silence to John and Mary's flat in Harley Street. Both Violet and Sherlock had been there before on separate occasions.

"Violet!' John pulled her in for a hug after he opened his door. "Here, let me take that. Looks good!" he remarked about the salad.

"Sherlock was in charge of it," Violet called back as she hugged Mary.

"Let me guess - you bought it from the supermarket on the way over," John commented.

"Somebody already went to the trouble to construct it - why buy all the individual ingredients?" Sherlock replied defensively.

John snorted. "Come in. I'll pour you a scotch. I'm sure this must be extremely painful for you."

Two scotches and a bowl of a nuts later, Sherlock was feeling much more relaxed. Mary and Violet were talking and laughing in the kitchen, and Sherlock was relaying the case of the missing coins and banknotes to John. Soon enough dinner was served and the conversation turned to the TELSAs and John's drinking game in Mrs Hudson's flat. John and Mary had stayed over in Mrs Hudson's spare room. Actually Mary did, as John was passed out on the couch, snoring.

"Greg and Molly left early together," Mary said with a smirk. "Greg was in a bad way. I hope Molly got him home okay."

John snorted again.

"Molly's lovely, isn't she?" Violet asked. Mary and John exchanged a look, while Sherlock eyed them suspiciously.

"She is," John answered diplomatically. "She is. Very nice. Obliging."

"What is this?" Sherlock asked, staring at his plate.

"Fish. Eat it and don't say a thing about it - it's Mary's mother's secret recipe," John instructed him.

"Hardly a secret if Mary's cooked it."

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

"It's delicious, thank you!" Violet commented, then took a sip of her glass of white wine.

Sherlock was keeping count. Violet had consumed two glasses of wine so far. She had stopped shooting him daggers, and had even brushed his leg with her hand during dinner. Although that could've been an accident, he theorised. When John stood up to help Mary with the second course, Violet reached over and took Sherlock's hand in hers.

"I won't be angry with you forever you know," she said smiling slyly.

"You won't?" he asked, feeling relieved.

"Just a few days to go now," she smirked, and leant over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey, none of that," John mocked as he entered their dining room. "If I wanted to see you two kissing I'd buy a gossip magazine."

"You did buy a gossip magazine!" Mary called from the kitchen.

"Oh, yeah. That's because Sherlock was on the cover," John replied, replacing everyone's cutlery for the next course.

"What magazine?" Violet asked, and Sherlock looked up in interest.

"Don't you keep track of what magazines you appear in?" John asked, making his way over to a side table in the lounge room.

"Violet has somebody doing that for her," Sherlock replied.

"Mandi?" queried Violet. "No, she only checks the online stuff. Sherlock and I have been hiding away at home mostly this week. We're not really up with the printed gossip and Sherlock's banned Mrs Hudson from talking to us about anything Mrs Turner from next door has read about us."

"Well, you're not exactly the main feature, but you appear on the cover all the same. There," John said, placing the magazine down in front of Sherlock, and pointing to a small inset picture on the cover, showing Sherlock holding Violet's hand just as they were about to walk down the red carpet after alighting from the limousine. The caption under it read "Christa's New Beau!"

Sherlock tutted, and leant back in his chair. "Why do they say that? I'm not dating a fictional TV character."

"Well, go on, open it. Page 24, the side column," John prompted him, and he returned to the kitchen.

"Oh, her hair looks nice there," remarked Violet pointing to a singer on the opposite page.

Sherlock frowned as he read, and tutted a couple more times. He looked up as John re-entered the room with more plates. Violet took the magazine from Sherlock as he said, "There's only one paragraph re-hashing what's already on-line, referring to me as a Forensic Specialist this time, and the remaining five paragraphs talk about celebrities in general who have non-celebrity partners. And they spelt my name incorrectly. Diligent reporting as ever."

John laughed. "Yes, that's right, Sherlock Homes, no 'L'".

"I didn't know Chenoa and I were in a love triangle with Matt," Violet stated after turning a few more pages. "Well, you never know with some people." She got up and returned the magazine to the lounge room. "And I thought I had Matt all to myself."

When Sherlock turned to glare at her, Violet winked at him.

Second course down, and Sherlock was feeling pretty full, and slightly tipsy again. He decided to join in the wine drinking so there'd be less for Violet to consume... until John brought out a second bottle.

"How about we sit in the lounge room before we have dessert?" Mary suggested.

"I'll help you with the dishes," Violet offered.

"That's all right - we'll just stack them up on the counter and John can do them later!" Mary whispered conspiratorially to Violet.

Violet sat down on the couch next to Sherlock. In fact she cuddled up next to him, he was pleased to note, and looked up at him before giving him a very passionate kiss.

"How many have you had?" he whispered.

"I lost count," she whispered back.

"We're in trouble then aren't we?" he replied, smiling broadly. Violet giggled.

"Right!" said John, entering the room and rubbing his hands together. Mary entered wiping her hands on a tea towel. "Who's up for a game of Charades?"

There was a moments silence as Sherlock's whole body went rigid, then John, Mary and Violet all burst out laughing.

"You told them. Excellent," Sherlock said, scowling.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **The aircraft configuration is a British Airways Business Class product called "Club World". Find it in Google images. Looks luxurious! Violet and Sherlock are seated side by side.

Also, Doc Manager is stripping the 'at' symbol from my text. I haven't heard back from Support as to why yet, so the Twitter addresses which are normally preceded by the 'at' symbol instead have an asterisk "*".

* * *

**Chapter 40**

Violet laughed to herself.

"What?" Sherlock asked, as he finished typing an email.

Violet spoke in a low voice, "Mandi texted me that someone had tweeted using the VioletHBF hashtag..."

"That's old news..."

"No, people use it now to tweet about you and I. Look..."

Violet showed Sherlock the Twitter app on her ipad.

Grrl Guide *GrrlGuide  
Omg *TheVioletHunter and #MrCheekbones are sitting 5m away in the next cabin! #VioletHBF #heartfailure

"MrCheekBones?"

"Shhh!" Violet giggled.

Sherlock tutted.

"It was your hair slicked back. I told you!"

"I really don't see the attraction. They're bones. In my face. Everybody has them."

"Mandi said there's all these websites dedicated to the Science of Seduction, and a website called...hang on."

Violet typed a bit. She giggled again.

"Look Violet, I'm being inundated with useless emails from new fans and journalists now. I really don't need you scouring the internet finding new places in cyberspace devoted to irritating me."

"Oh," she replied, leaning into his shoulder, "It's fun!"

"Fun for whom?"

"Fun for people who don't want to suffer an early heart attack at the age of 35."

Violet sulkily closed her ipad cover and stowed it in the magazine rack beside her.

"I'm hungry," she stated, like a bored child.

"You think I'm a likely candidate for an early heart attack?" he asked her condescendingly. "On what grounds? And how did you know I was 35?"

"National secret is it?"

"John," Sherlock concluded, looking back at his screen.

"You're ten years older than I am."

"Yes, I can count too," he responded disinterestedly.

"You're old," she teased. "Practically middle aged."

"And when I'm 80, you'll be a young and sprightly 70 year old."

"You won't be able to get it up at 80," she whispered.

"Drinks?" a flight attendant interrupted them.

"Um, I'll have a vodka and lemonade please," Violet asked, smiling brightly.

Sherlock leaned across, "She can't drink. She's an alcoholic. I'll have a scotch and coke please."

The flight attendant raised her eyebrows and looked confused at Violet.

"He can't drink, he's incontinent," Violet retorted.

"I'm not sure either of you should be drinking," the flight attendant said sternly.

"I'm sorry, Susan," Sherlock made a point of looking at her badge, "This is Violet Hunter the famous celebrity. She can't drink. She'll make an idiot of herself on a plane full of fans."

Violet snorted, then tried to stifle her giggling, looking up at Susan.

"If she's an adult she is allowed to make her own decisions," the flight attendant said impatiently.

"Barely," Sherlock scoffed. "Scotch and coke, please."

"And a vodka and lemonade," Violet added.

Susan looked displeased with the pair of them and served them their drinks with a hint of annoyance.

"She's going to piss in your dinner," Violet whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock rumbled with laughter.

"Behave yourself," he said. "I'm going to put in my headphones now, so that I don't have to listen to you anymore. Okay?"

"Kiss?"

Sherlock leaned in and they kissed, neither of them wanting to break away first. Violet reached up and caressed Sherlock's face.

"Stop, this could get embarrassing," Sherlock whispered. "Just have your drink, just the one, then go to sleep."

"Do you think other couples have had sex in this configuration?" Violet whispered.

"Just lean back for a second," Sherlock instructed. Violet moved back to her side while Sherlock pulled the translucent divider across, thereby ending their conversation.

_Excellent start to the holiday,_ Violet thought. She'd already annoyed Sherlock within the first 30 minutes of their flight. It was going to be a long eleven hours. Violet drank her vodka and lemonade, pulling out her ipad again. Happily she found she'd been sent a schedule and her finalised script for the Hilderness drama. Violet eagerly read the email, then felt sad at the amount of time she would have to be away from Sherlock for such a small part.

She wanted to tell him, but he'd only closed the divider five minutes ago. Surely he'd be expecting a longer break from Violet than that. She smirked to herself. He was easily annoyed with her, but also easily softened up with a few special kisses in just the right places. She read her email again, then checked the time. Seven minutes since the divider went up. If she were any kind of thoughtful girlfriend, she'd give him one or two hours of in-flight alone time. If she were...

But then she had a better idea. She forwarded her schedule to Sherlock's email, adding "I love you!" and "FYI..."

Then she preceded to read her script while waiting for Sherlock's response. It came in the form of the divider being pulled back.

"You'll be in Scotland for two weeks."

"Yes, I know," she replied unhappily.

"Good," he said, sliding the dividing back again.

* * *

"But I'm hungry!"

"You can't eat until your circadian rhythm is in sync with the day-night cycle of the west coast. Desynchronosis can cause..."

"Why can't you say jet lag like a normal person."

"Just be quiet and go to sleep."

"But I slept on the flight. You didn't."

"I don't need sleep."

* * *

Violet woke feeling completely disoriented. She picked up her phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 4:27am. She looked across the bed at Sherlock's sleeping form. This was a first. She very rarely got to wake before Sherlock, except when he was hungover. He'd normally have been up for hours back home, and she'd always been disappointed at not getting to snuggle up to his rumpled body.

She slid over to his side, pressing into his back with her body. She kissed the back of his neck and received a sleepy "No" for her efforts.

"I'm awake," she whispered.

"Clearly," came the sleepy reply. "Go back to sleep."

Violet sighed and turned over feeling wide awake. She silently rose from the bed and made her way out to the small living area of their self-contained unit, lay on the sofa and preceded to read her script from her ipad. Three hours later she was woken up by a kiss on her lips.

"Come on Sleepy. Dopey, Bugsy and Sneezy are waiting for you," Sherlock whispered.

Violet frowned and said rather groggily with her eyes still shut, "There's no dwarf called Bugsy."

"Bugs Bunny," corrected Sherlock.

"How do you even know this?" Violet asked, finally opening her eyes and yawning. "You don't usually hold such trivia in your brain."

"I've been doing my research," Sherlock boasted. "I'll delete it once we've left L.A. Anyway, time to rise. You need sunlight. Let's go for a stroll and find somewhere for breakfast. Maple syrup on bacon and pancakes I think."

"Why are you so chirpy?"

"Because I slept when I was supposed to, didn't eat, and re-adjusted my body clock."

"That's not something you can consciously do you know," Violet said, finally sitting up and stretching.

"I can. Quick, have a shower. L.A. is beckoning!" Sherlock said dramatically opening the curtains. Violet winced from the sudden glare.

* * *

They'd spent the day wandering around the city, getting lost, rating the best alleyways in which to, theoretically, have sex in, and just soaking up the L.A. sunshine - a rarity for the two Londoners.

"Ice-cream!" exclaimed Violet, a slight childish skip in her step.

Sherlock groaned.

"What? Don't you like ice-cream?"

"It's cold and wet."

"So's London! Come on...who does't like ice-cream? And it's Ben and Jerry's!"

"We do have that in London, you know."

"Yes, but we don't have sunshine."

Sherlock sighed as they entered the store.

"Just try one...pick a flavour that sounds interesting. Or two or three!"

"No, you get one. I'll get a coffee."

"You can get a coffee-flavoured one."

"I don't want ice-cream. Ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous."

Violet ordered a New York Super Fudge Chunk and also Sherlock's coffee, while Sherlock lounged in a booth, staring out at the pedestrians along the street.

"Mmmm!" Violet murmured, as she licked the side of her Fudge ice-cream cone.

"Crime rate has declined in the last ten years," Sherlock commented as he continued looking outside. "Would've been great to have been here in the early 2000s..."

"Try it," said Violet, ignoring Sherlock's comments and holding out the cone to him.

"No thanks," he said swiftly, raising a hand in protest. "Just happy with my coffee." He took a sip to demonstrate his point, and raised his eyebrows, adding an "Mmmm!" as well.

"Just a lick."

"No."

"Just stick out your tongue."

"No."

"Pretend you're kissing me."

"What? Uh, no. I'm not pressing my lips against a round ball of wet coldness."

"Here then." Violet attempted to scoop out a small sampling of ice-cream from the side of her ice-cream cone using her index finger. Sherlock looked on in mild distaste. She held out her finger.

"Here," she said in a beckoning voice.

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it around Violet's finger as she gently pulled it out again. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I didn't really taste it properly," he said through slitted eyes. Violet repeated the process which was met with Sherlock putting on his best analytical face.

"Not sure," he said. "Let me..." he held out his hand for the cone, which Violet reluctantly passed him.

"Mmmm," he said, licking the top.

"Good, huh?" Violet asked, holding her hand out in order to take the cone back.

"Wait," Sherlock commanded, licking the other side.

"Sherlock!"

"Just evening it up," he said licking away. "You don't want it all lop-sided."

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, look, someone famous!" Sherlock remarked suddenly, and indicating a person standing at the counter behind Violet.

"Where? Who?" asked Violet, turning around.

When she looked back at Sherlock he was already half-way out the door to the street.

"Sherlock!" she called, chasing after him.

"No, no!" he remarked, holding the cone out of Violet's reach as she attempted to grab it back from him. "I'm doing you a favour. It'll go straight to your thighs!"

Violet punched him in the stomach.

* * *

"When then?" Sherlock asked, lounging back onto the sofa of the apartment.

"I don't know what to say."

Violet was feeling despondent at the thought of ringing her "uncle". Sherlock was insisting she do it sooner rather than later in case they ran out of time.

"And what if he doesn't want to see me?" she added.

"What's the worst that he could say?"

Violet thought for a minute. "How about, 'I never wanted to hear your mother's name again. Be gone devil's spawn!'"

"Hmm, possible," Sherlock commented. "Next?"

"'Oh Therese Hunter you say? Name sounds familiar.'"

"Unlikely. Next?"

"'Violet! We all wondered what happened to you, you little tike! Come over, we'll have a barbie!'"

"I think that's Australian. But, next!"

"'Oh my God, my little flower child, let us embrace you into our bosoms.'"

"And that's from the 1970s."

"Well?"

"Just prepare yourself for the first response, and hope for the latter," Sherlock concluded. "Go on," he said, sitting up and sweeping both hands toward Violet. "Be off with you. Go make the phone call."

"I don't want to. I'm too scared."

Sherlock sighed and stood up. "Would you like me to?"

Violet's face brightened. "Oh could you?"

"It's what I do - ring people for information."

Violet strode over to him and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she breathed into his neck. Sherlock hugged her tightly. "You'll owe me, of course," he whispered back.

* * *

"She's lost, you know," Edward Adler stated morosely. He was still a handsome man, in his early fifties, streaks of brown still showing through his predominantly grey hair, weathered lines and wrinkles mapping out his triumphs, worries and sorrows on his face.

Sherlock, Violet and Eddie, as he insisted on being called, were seated in the modest apartment Eddie shared with his new wife of two years. Julia, a very young 45 year old, had entered Eddie's life when the memory of his late wife, who had died from breast cancer, was still fresh in his mind. His three children were carving out their own lives in the far corners of the globe: Jennifer, the youngest, an engineer in Singapore; Angus, the middle child, a public servant in Brisbane, and Irene, the eldest...

"Lost?" Sherlock asked.

"Wayward."

Sherlock and Violet listened as Eddie explained his daughter's rebellious teenage years, how she was sent back to England to attend an all-girls boarding school, her failed attempts at getting into the acting scene in her early twenties, and finally taking off to Europe where she said she was a governess to a certain European prince's children. It was all very vague, and Eddie didn't believe a word of it.

"But, you're a private detective?" Eddie asked Sherlock suddenly, and Sherlock inwardly groaned.

* * *

"Well, if he really wanted to know where she is I could always forward him her URL."

"Don't be so mean! He was asking you a favour - as family!"

"We're not family. You're not even related. And besides - we went there for information and help for your own peace of mind, not vice-versa!"

"And favours work two ways, remember! I don't know why you had to lie about not being allowed to work in continental Europe. You're there every second summer."

Eddie was able to provide Violet with some wedding photos and a couple of baby photos of herself. Of her mother, Eddie knew nothing. He was living in Canada at the time, and they'd never met. He was also under the impression Therese had died in the car accident. He knew of the 'scandal' and that his brother had escaped to Australia, heartbroken. They weren't close. Eddie had often wondered what had become of little Violet.

Violet made her way over to Sherlock's laptop.

"What was her URL anyway?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember? That's not like you."

"I didn't notice."

"You? Not notice? Oh... were you too busy staring at her naked body?"

"She wasn't naked. She was wearing a corset thing and holding a riding crop."

"You noticed that all right," Violet muttered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up.

Violet sat in thought, poised to type. "What did Mycroft call her? ... 'The Woman'. Well I can't google that - it's too general."

"Mycroft has an entire file on her. Why are you attempting to do research?"

"I just wanted to know what she was selling."

"It's obvious what she's selling."

"No it's not. She could be selling riding crops," Violet replied sarcastically.

"Anyway, I thought you wanted to go to Disneyland. Aren't we going? Come on. The Dumbo the elephant ride looks suitable for your height."

"You need an entire day for Disneyland. It's too late now. Why don't you go order some afternoon tea or something. We'll go to Disneyland tomorrow."

"An entire day?! I don't want to spend an entire day with Mickey Mouse!"

"They've got a Daffy Duck ride. That'll be fun for you!"

Sherlock stretched out on the hotel sofa, a rather pained expression on his face as he read the brochure for Disneyland - again. He threw it down in disgust.

"An entire day," he muttered.

Violet looked over at him, then rose from her chair. She sat on the floor in front of him and kissed his arm. "It is _our_ holiday," she said. "We don't have to go to Disneyland."

"But you want to."

"There's heaps of other things to do, and we've only got a week left anyway. I did find something for you...so we can do that tomorrow."

"What?" asked Sherlock, wincing in expectation.

"Crime scene tours!"

"What?"

"Someone who used to work for the LAPD takes a busload of tourists on a tour around L.A's most famous crime scenes."

"I don't see how that could be a tourist activity."

"Well it is. Some people enjoy that."

"What people?"

"I don't know. They do everything here. Something for everyone," she announced proudly, "Even Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock tried to not be negative. She was trying. It sounded mildly interesting, and far more tolerable than an entire day listening to 'Wish Upon a Star' pumped out at you through loud speakers.

* * *

They'd almost survived the tour... well, 90 minutes out of the five hours the tour went for. Sherlock was actually impressed with the knowledge of their guide and the level of detail he went to. Violet had purposefully seated Sherlock and herself at the back of the bus so that Sherlock wouldn't be tempted to talk back to the guide. It was an obnoxious Australian guy sitting in front of them that Sherlock took issue with. The Aussie, Scottie his name was, kept puffing and scoffing and big-noting the Australian Federal Police as being the best in the world.

The rest of the passengers on the bus were also annoyed with Scottie, and unfortunately the guide at the front couldn't really hear his comments, so he didn't know there was an issue.

Finally, Sherlock had had enough. They'd stopped outside an apartment building where a particularly vicious murder had taken place in the 60s. They were all gathered around the guide on the sidewalk. Scottie was in fine form.

"They're hardly at the top of their game," Sherlock retorted eventually to one particularly snide comment. "You Australians have misplaced an entire Prime Minister. Any leads yet? I suspect he took time off to..."

"Fuck off, ya pommie bastard!" Scottie responded, then he shoved Sherlock, almost knocking Violet over. Sherlock straightened up, a menacing look in his eyes, and promptly head-butted the man amid cheers and claps from the rest of the passengers. Scottie threatened to press charges, but he was told by most of the other passengers that there weren't any witnesses. Still, the guide was obligated to throw both Scottie _and_ Sherlock off the tour.

Back in the apartment, Violet was putting an ice pack to Sherlock's forehead. She had remained silent about the whole incident. She was secretly proud though, but didn't want to encourage that sort of behaviour from Sherlock in the future.

"What should we do today?" Violet asked over breakfast the next morning. They were sitting on the balcony of the apartment, eating toast and drinking coffee.

"A rest day."

"No! But there's so much to see and do. I've also got to go shopping. Mandi asked me to pick up a couple of things for her."

"So shopping then," Sherlock said sullenly.

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you don't want to go."

"I don't want to go," Sherlock stated, picking up his phone when it buzzed with a message.

"I'll go by myself."

Sherlock looked up at her. "Why do you have to be so dramatic?"

"Why can't you be more accommodating?"

"Accommodating?" Sherlock all but exploded. "The whole point of this holiday is to accommodate you and your whims. We've come all this way to see someone you're not even related to, for a few happy snaps and a donut, for all of one hour. And now we're spending the rest of the trip shopping for fucking Mandi. I've had to endure you being hyper for five hours of an eleven hour flight, whining like a child the other half of the time, making me go to the dead movie star museum, who the fuck is James Dean anyway, and why do I have to dress like him," he indicated his t-shirt, and not-so-tight blue denim jeans, "eating rabbit food - what is this fucking L.A. diet..., not being allowed to read work-related emails, while you read your script, not being allowed to have sex with you in the spa bath because you're painting your fucking toe nails..."

Violet stood up from the table at this point.

"Stay here. Read your fucking emails, hire a fucking disease-ridden street hooker and have sex with_ her_ in the spa bath while eating a Big Mac. YOU CAN'T WEAR SUITS STROLLING ALONG A BEACH IN L.A! I'M GOING SHOPPING, YOU FUCKING PRICK!"

And with that she stormed back into the apartment, grabbed her bag and jacket and left.

_Good_, thought Sherlock, peering at his screen again and taking a sip of coffee._ Peace and quiet._

* * *

Sherlock re-read the message on his phone, which had come in hours earlier:

LESTRADE: [ What the bleedin heck are you doing in L.A? I thought you couldn't leave London. Ring at earliest convenience. D.I-L ]

Sherlock had spent most of the day sorting through emails, deleting the rubbish ones and following up on promising cases. He'd even solved one. He dialled the Detective Inspector's mobile, smiling as he was greeted with a tirade of abuse.

"Well, Lestrade, you did say 'earliest convenience'. I assume you meant my own?"

"I assumed you'd use common courtesy and be able to observe international time differences like everybody else on the planet. It's midnight here! What are you doing in America anyway?"

"Something's come up for Violet. What's happening on the home front?" Sherlock asked, impatient for something he could sink his teeth into.

"I thought you'd be heading to Manchester by now - the John Douglas execution remember?"

"I've just had an idea, Lestrade. I'm going to attack this from the other end. I remember reading endless bank statements for Moran. Get them scanned and email them to me. I'll analyse them from here."

"What? I can't send confidential information out of the country!" Lestrade protested.

"Any case I've ever worked on for you is in my head, Lestrade. It has already left the country. Send the statements. Get your I.T boys to encrypt it. I'll get back to you."

He ended the call.

Sherlock looked at his watch: 4:09pm. Violet had been out since ten this morning. Surely that was plenty of time to purchase a snow dome for Mandi? Should he ring now?

He did.

"Hello," Violet answered without emotion.

"Shopping going well?"

"Yes."

"Coming back any time soon?"

"No."

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and ran his hand through his curls. _How long can she hold a grudge for?_

"Tell me where you are and I'll meet you somewhere for a coffee. Or ice-cream. Whatever you like?"

"Are you sure you want me to tear you away from your precious emails?"

"I've already dealt with all of those. I'm ready to give you my undivided attention..._as usual._" The last phrase was out of his mouth before it could be censored.

"Don't bother, Sherlock."

"Look, I think I've been very accommodating about this entire trip, don't you?"

"You've already made that clear."

"And?" he asked, incredulous that Violet was still being so obtuse.

"What?"

"Don't you think it's your turn to apologise for once in this relationship?"

There was silence from the other end. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he imagined Violet standing somewhere in downtown L.A, a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.

But she wasn't crying, and she hung up on him.

He rang again. He was getting mightily pissed off.

"I think I've apologised a lot to you," Violet began.

"For what? Kissing Jake? What about texting Jake? What about carrying a fucking torch for Jake? Or how about this endless dancing with Matt the fucking sexy gay mechanic? ... hello?"

_Fuck!_

* * *

"I'm sorry about the...ah..." Violet paused again, almost unable to finish. "S-sorry about the ... nail polish ...oh, Sherlock! ... and the ... clothes ... and..."

Sherlock shushed her, but Violet wasn't finished.

"Sor-ry... about ... Jake..."

"Don't - say ... oh, Violet, Vi-..."

Sherlock leant back, his head hitting the hard surface of the bathroom tiles. He swore in pain, but still climaxed anyway - his orgasm only seconds before Violet's.

Make-up sex. In a spa bath.

Whose brilliant idea was that?

* * *

.

**A/N: **Thanks to The Yoshinator for the ice-creamery!


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

"You're right! Five hundred grand," Violet sat up and stretched. She'd been double-checking Sherlock's spreadsheet containing a selection of Sebastian Moran's bank transfers over a one year period.

They'd decided to spend a day in their apartment, ignoring the lure of sunny L.A., doing something Sherlock loved doing best...

-second best-

...working on a case.

And Violet was trying to be more "accommodating" and decided to help him with the Sebastian Moran case. Sherlock hadn't questioned her about Jake's relationship with Moran yet...but that was foremost in his mind.

He reflected on the facts that the bank statements had revealed so far. "So Moran is transferring a total of five hundred grand in a year, every year for the last five, to a series of seemingly random and unrelated businesses. Of the ones I've checked so far, three are charities, one is a school in Belgium, another an Energy broker in Dublin. I've got John checking on the charities...I just need to check the recipients of the 23 other transactions."

"Do you think they're all bogus?"

"Must be. All the amounts seem innocuous, and not rounded figures either... 43.95...203.20...but together..."

"Five hundred grand."

"Exactly. Every year."

"Leading to one person? Who do you think?"

"The controlling brain of the underworld."

Sherlock said it so seriously, that Violet just had to burst out laughing.

"And who shall save us?" she mocked. "Superman? James Bond?"

Sherlock wasn't impressed. "I told you - Moran's an idiot." Sherlock rose from the bed where they had been lying, studying the transactions on both Sherlock's computer and Violet's iPad. "He's been paying someone to do his thinking for him, and keep him out of jail."

"I thought he was gay," Violet remarked, rolling onto her back and holding her iPad into the air to read from.

Sherlock began pacing, rubbing one hand through his hair. He stopped suddenly and spun around to Violet.

"What did you say?"

"He's gay. I think."

"No, no. You're exact words," he urged, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Violet.

Violet put the iPad down behind her head and stared up at Sherlock, confused.

"I thought he was gay."

"You thought he was gay," Sherlock said carefully.

"Ye-es," replied Violet, hesitantly.

"But you don't know him," Sherlock said softly.

"I don't recognise his photo... but I did say his name was familiar."

"But where did the gay thought come from?"

"I don't know."

"From there," and Sherlock lightly tapped Violet's forehead with his index finger. "You obviously met him when you were drunk, the knowledge of him never being written into your long-term memory except for his name and the fact that you thought he was gay."

"O-kay," Violet said slowly. She watched Sherlock as his eyes darted here and there - he was deep in thought. Better not disturb the process. She lay there silently.

"So he was in Jake's company then, most likely," he said more to himself. Then his focus returned to Violet, who was staring up at him, frowning. "Tell me all about Jake and his business dealings. Everything you've got."

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that," Sherlock said calmly, his eyes narrowing.

Violet swallowed. Sherlock was leaning over her as she lay on the bed. She found this a bit disconcerting.

"Jake never discussed business in front of me."

"Never?" Sherlock found this hard to believe.

"Any of the business discussions I saw were in his club. I was pretty much shooed away by that time of the evening. I had to sit at the bar with the other slags."

"Slags?"

"I mean, you know...mistresses, girlfriends. Whatever."

"So you were never involved? Didn't stand behind Jake while he pressed a gun against somebody's temple?"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up again, while Violet sat up and swung her legs off the bed.

"I only saw him commit one act of violence against somebody else, and this was before we were together. Can't say I was sorry," she muttered. "And when we were together, he thought I was a princess - at least in the early days, so I was kept separate from his everyday seedy life."

"Why would he think you were a princess?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

Violet raised her eyebrows at him. "Thank you."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

Violet sighed. "Don't you read the gossip? Violet Hunter is posh, remember? That was Jake's impression, too...back in a minute."

She stood up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door shut behind her.

_But weren't you a heroin addict?_ Sherlock thought.

When Violet came out again, Sherlock was sitting up, leaning against the bed head with his laptop on his lap, knees bent. Violet had changed out of her pyjamas into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

"I thought I'd go for a jog on the treadmill downstairs in the gym. That okay?"

"Sure," he said, looking up at her. "Violet," he said and he patted the bed next to him. "Sit for a minute."

Violet sat down on the bed, facing Sherlock and leaning slightly into his bent knees.

Sherlock lightly held Violet's hand as he gently spoke. "I don't understand your relationship with Jake. I never will. And it's going to ... upset me every time he makes contact with you, and you him. I'm working on a case which I am going to solve. And that means Sebastian Moran will be behind bars. And if that also means Jake Venucci is incarcerated along with him, then I won't shed a fucking tear about that."

Violet didn't blink. "I know," she said softly. "I know that." She smiled faintly and leant in to kiss him. "Do what you have to do," she whispered. "I love you."

* * *

"Now that I know you wear tuxedos and you have a girlfriend, I'm much more relaxed about you being my best man," John commented, sitting back in his old armchair and opening the newspaper.

"Are you sure I'm the best?" Sherlock asked from the living room table, peering at his laptop screen.

"Sometimes I wonder," muttered John.

"How is it assessed?" Sherlock asked, busily tapping away at the keyboard.

John sighed in weariness.

"Don't worry, John," Violet spoke reassuringly. "We've got Ben's wedding to go to before yours. Sherlock can get a bit of wedding experience in then."

"Ben?" queried John.

"My step-brother."

"Oh," recalled John.

"Their wedding is three weeks before yours."

"I have been to a wedding, you know," Sherlock remarked, eyes still fixed to his screen.

"Whose?", "When?" both Violet and John asked simultaneously.

"Well, when I say 'been', I mean more like 'ran through one at high speed, chasing a criminal'."

"That's hardly the same," stated John.

"No. This time I'll be wearing a _-tux-_," Sherlock replied with distaste. "Anyway, haven't you two been engaged for about ten years?"

"Just the one, Sherlock."

"What was the date of the wedding again?" Sherlock asked, eventually turning to face John.

"It's in two months," John replied irritably. "Summertime. And I've told you the date - on several occasions, and each time you say you'll put it in your diary."

"I don't keep a diary, John."

John clenched his jaw.

Sherlock looked thoughtfully into the air. "I shall try to not be in Spain during that time then."

Violet laughed from the kitchen. "And why would you be going to Spain?"

"Tapas," replied Sherlock turning back to his computer.

"Just make sure he turns up?" John whispered to Violet.

"Costa Calida," added Sherlock.

"Don't worry," Violet whispered back, and she patted John on the shoulder as she delivered him a cup of tea.

"Rioja."

"I'll leave you boys to it. Meeting remember." Violet kissed Sherlock on his temple as she placed a cup of tea down on the table beside him. "I'll be upstairs getting ready."

"Ah, the mini series," Sherlock remarked to himself as Violet exited the room.

"This the new one?" John asked.

"Yes. Emergency meeting or something. The lead actor was fired, and they all need to gather round to hold hands or something. The only good thing to come out of it was having to leave L.A. three days early."

"I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

"Ice-cream, John. It's the only way I managed to survive."

"Speaking of survival - no more death threats from Sebastian Moran and his cronies then?"

"No," Sherlock replied, turning to face John. "And as your charities all checked out as fake, and the other businesses were all obscure fronts, I believe the net is getting tighter."

"What next?"

"It's time for action, John!"

"What does that mean?"

"Throwing my girlfriend to the wolves."

* * *

"How long will we need to be in Manchester for the wedding?" Sherlock asked Violet one evening. He had been sitting in his armchair, fingertips pressed together, touching his lips, in thoughtful repose. Violet was trying to tiptoe passed him as she went between his room and hers upstairs packing for her temporary relocation to Glasgow. She almost jumped when he snapped out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Your step-brother's wedding. How long?"

"Just the weekend. I can only get that long off anyway, now that the shooting schedule has been extended."

Sherlock went silent again. Over the couple of weeks they had been back from L.A. both Violet and Sherlock had been independently busy. Sherlock had a three day trip to Ireland - to appear in court for one of the cases he had solved previously, then he had cases back in London involving a blackmailer, a missing child and an engineer who had lost his left thumb. Sherlock had been accepting all his cases on the condition that his clients did not report his involvement to the press.

Violet on the other hand, had nothing but public appearances and interviews, some promoting the Hilderness mini series, other's her departure from Regency Road. Some interviews, mostly the ones appearing in women's magazines, were about her professional and personal life in general. Sherlock found these amusing. Over a few days when he had no cases, he had scanned in those articles, enlarged the portion of text where Violet had mentioned how supportive or wonderful Sherlock was, and stuck them on her dresser mirror in her bedroom upstairs (these days her old bedroom was used as her 'dressing room').

Violet wasn't impressed that he could spend an entire day doing that, but not a few hours doing the laundry.

There was no more progress to be made on the Moran/Adair/Douglas case.

"You want me to what?"

"Smile and chat. Look..." he waved his hand at her, "...pretty. You're good at that."

Violet frowned at Sherlock. "Chat. With Jake. In Manchester. In his nightclub."

"Something along those lines."

"Why?"

"To stir up the hornet's nest."

"This makes no sense, Sherlock. One minute you're saying you'll be upset if I communicate with Jake, then next you want me to openly flirt with him."

"I didn't say 'flirt'."

"During the weekend of the wedding?"

"The perfect excuse for being in Manchester."

Violet sat down on the armrest of her chair, facing Sherlock. She fiddled with the sweater she was about to fold and pack into her suitcase.

"What are you hoping to achieve?" she asked eventually.

"Send them a message. We're here, and we're not going away."

"We? You mean 'me'."

"They obviously know you're with me. They sent a warning to me through you. I'm sending my reply."

"Using me?"

"Yes."

"Your girlfriend."

"Yes."

"The love of your life."

Sherlock smiled. "You're also the love of Jake's life. He won't let anything happen to you. Not by other people anyway," he muttered at the end.

"You surprise me. I just don't understand your change in reasoning."

_No_, Sherlock thought. _You may just be Jake's downfall._

"So you want me to go there by myself? Unaccompanied? Because I'm not sure they'll let you in there."

"No. And that's why I'm putting my best man onto it."

"Who?"

"John."

Violet continued, "I'm far too tired to think about this now. As the wedding's just under a month away can we talk about it more later? I'm too nervous about the mini-series."

Sherlock nodded, in contemplative thought, then he asked, "All packed?"

"Mmmm."

Sherlock held one arm out wide, an invitation for Violet to join him in his armchair. She snuggled onto his lap.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked, brushing her hair away from her face.

"I'll be working with a well-respected director. I feel a bit intimidated by him. And also, I'll be opposite Sir Henry Masters."

Sherlock shrugged. "I know you told me who was in the cast but I really don't know who they are. They're just a bunch of names."

"I guess a handful of Theatre Arts awards don't mean anything to you?"

"Nope."

"Arts Foundation Trust named after him?"

"Nope."

"Well, he's an actor's actor. He might think I'm rubbish. Just a soapie star."

"Stop worrying about what everybody else thinks. Somebody cast you in this role. They'd be the idiot if they'd cast incorrectly."

Violet leant into Sherlock's shoulder. "Will you come up and visit sometime?"

"Mmm," he murmured into her neck before nibbling it.

"I'll probably have to socialise with the rest of the cast and crew to keep from being lonely."

"That's good," he whispered.

"Don't worry about anything you read about me."

"What would I read about you?" he stopped his kisses, looking at Violet, puzzled.

"The press like to report things about couples when they're away from each other and are seen cavorting with members of the opposite sex."

"Cavorting. Excellent," Sherlock whispered, taking up where he left off.

"Sherlock," Violet protested. "I'm serious."

"I'm listening."

"Don't believe anything you read. Talk to me first, okay?"

"Are you planning on something?"

"No! It's just that..." Violet sat up straighter. "Mandi has been reading things about us online - things that are obviously wrong."

"Like?"

"I was upset that Chenoa and Matt are a couple and I apparently left Regency Road because of that. And, you and I were trying to patch things up by going to L.A. together."

"That's a nice story."

"It's not true."

"I know that and you know that, so why don't you stop reading that rubbish?"

Violet sighed.

"I don't know why you wouldn't let me take you out to dinner on our last night together. We could've had Chinese," he said seductively, gently caressing Violet's leg.

"I don't think you'd be able to fit into your jeans anymore," Violet whispered back to him.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked defensively.

"You're not the only detective around here," Violet smirked.

Sherlock looked at her suspiciously. Violet leant in and whispered into Sherlock's ear as she gently patted his tummy, "If you're going to sneakily buy Ben and Jerry's New York Super Chunk ice-cream, you really should buy the low-fat version."

* * *

VIOLET: [ Three layers. In summer! x ]

Sherlock smiled as he viewed the photo Violet had sent of herself from Scotland, in late 19th Century dress, holding a can of diet coke. Although, it wasn't as alluring as the photo she had texted him that morning, as she was being dressed - laced up in a corset. And Violet had told him not to, but he couldn't resist searching for #Hilderness on Twitter, and getting sneaky glimpses of scenes containing Violet and some lecherous-looking old man.

VIOLET: [ That lecherous-looking old man is Sir Henry Masters! Stop stalking me! ]

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson's pained voice came floating up the stairway.

Sherlock shut his laptop lid as his landlady came into view - a very concerned look on her face.

"Didn't I tell you not to listen to Mrs Turner?" Sherlock reprimanded her before Mrs Hudson could even speak.

"Sherlock, it's not Violet," Mrs Hudson whispered, "It's you this time."

"What?"

Sherlock opened his laptop and typed "sherlock holmes" into google. The first hit was his own website,_ The Science of Deduction_, the next few were links to brief 'out and about' articles showing him and Violet having returned from L.A. striding through Heathrow with their luggage, and other articles rehashing the TELSAs and red carpet interviews, and transcripts of short interviews Violet had given online entertainment sites. Finally he came upon a link to a discussion site called _There's No Face Like Holmes - _it's sub-heading stating "a forum dedicated to telling us your one-night stands with Sherlock Holmes and all his aliases."

"Go away," Sherlock said calmly to Mrs Hudson, who still stood in the living room, wringing her hands.

She fluttered her hands in the air and silently left Sherlock. With a grim face, he clicked on the link.

The discussion forum was decorated with a top banner containing a montage of photos of Sherlock taken at the TELSAs, and more recent ones when he and Violet sometimes ventured out for coffee. Photos of just Sherlock, not Violet. Sherlock scanned the page which listed the topics under discussion.

**Welcome to the No Face Like Holmes Forum**, started by Admin  
_If you're new here, say hi! Read this before posting!_

**Holmes is Where the Heart Is**, started by Admin  
_Post your Sherlock Holmes conquests here! List aliases and nightclub names, then reveal all! The more detailed, the better!_

Sherlock reluctantly clicked on the _Holmes is Where the Heart Is_ discussion. His face hardened as his eyes ran down the list of threads - and these were just the ones on page one:

**Paul at The Stand**, started by msmith

**Callum at Shenanigans**, started by rosie

**James at Kabuki's**, started by tijana-b

**Michael at The Rocks**, started by symphony

**John at Bulldozers**, started by sherlocked

.  
Sherlock picked up his phone and sent a message to Violet.

SHERLOCK: [ Ring me urgently. SH ]

* * *

Sherlock held the phone away from his ear so he didn't have to hear Violet laughing.

"Oh my God! Sherlock! Quick, hang up! I have to check it out using my phone!"

"Violet this isn't funny!"

"It is! Hang up!"

"No. Do not visit that website, Violet!" Sherlock commanded.

She hung up on him.

* * *

After the usual familial greetings, Sherlock requested, "There's a website. Dedicated to me. Can you kill it?"

The moment of silence which greeted him told Sherlock that Mycroft was rolling his eyes. "And what, dear brother, have you been up to now?"

"I'm thinking denial of service attack, something like that."

Sherlock could hear Mycroft tapping away. Then came a tut. He'd obviously found the site.

"Your Thursday night dalliances, I take it? Ms Hunter not impressed?"

"She finds it amusing. Bedtime reading, she said. Can you kill it? Get it deleted or assassinate the administrator or something."

"I'll see what I can do," Mycroft answered in a bored tone. "But you'll owe me, Sherlock."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Not 'whatever'. Come and see me next week some time."

"I'm in Manchester this weekend."

"Next week, Sherlock. I have a case for you."

* * *

A week was all it took for that little scandal to blow over. The site was relatively new, and the press hadn't quite got wind of it. If it wasn't for Mrs Turner's niece who had taken to relentlessly cyber-stalking Sherlock, they may never have been on to it so promptly. Sherlock hinted to Violet that she 'fire Mandi' for not encountering it first.

"Firstly, I haven't hired her to stalk me online, and secondly, she only checks for articles about me, not about you."

They were getting dressed in a small hotel room in Manchester. Friday night was a family dinner, then Saturday afternoon was the wedding and reception. Violet had flown in from Glasgow, while Sherlock had taken the train from London.

He was fidgety. He was going to meet Violet's father for the first time.

"Stop it!" Violet said, brushing Sherlock's hand away from fiddling with his tie. She re-adjusted it for him.

"I don't wear ties," he complained.

"You did at the TELSAs."

"That's because you said I had to wear either a tie or a bow-tie with a tuxedo. This," he lifted one of the lapels of his dinner jacket, "is not a tux. And whatever happened to you apologising to me, oh so breathlessly in the spa bath in L.A. that you weren't going to choose my clothes for me anymore?"

"Did I say that? I don't remember. I must have been drunk."

Sherlock tutted, and grabbed at the tie again. He loosened it completely, slipped it over his head and tossed it onto the bed, glaring at Violet defiantly in the process.

"Right," he said, adjusting his jacket and pacing. "John's train gets in at five. He'll get a room here as well, and wait for us to finish. What time do you think we can leave the dinner?"

"Dinner won't be any longer than ten or eleven, which is still early enough to get into Kabuki's," Violet replied, sitting down on the bed, and putting her heels on. She eyed Sherlock. "You okay?"

"What?" he answered her distractedly.

"Are you ... pacing because of the dinner or me seeing Jake later?"

Sherlock stopped pacing. Why was he stressed? Meeting his girlfriend's father or having his girlfriend walk into a nightclub full of organised crime figures?

"Um," he said feeling overwhelmed.

"Sherlock," Violet smiled at him reassuringly. She stood up and moved over to give him a hug, and caressed his face. "Just be yourself. I love you, and everyone should see the person I fell in love with."

Violet was just as nervous as Sherlock. Having her dad meet Sherlock. Her judgemental dad. No one would ever be good enough for her, he would think, so she may as well accept that fact.

"Okay...let's do it!" Violet finally whispered.

* * *

"I've course Violet always had to be the centre of attention when she was a hyperactive 8 year old as well. Some things never change," the woman snidely remarked to her partner.

"I love you, Ben," Violet whispered into his ear as she bent down behind her step-brother. "But your mother is intolerable like this. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait, I'll walk you out," Ben replied, standing up. "Noel, just make sure my mother doesn't have any more wine this evening?" he called out to the man sitting next to her.

And that just left Ben's mother, her partner Noel, Ben's fiancée Ally and her parents, siblings, an aunt and an uncle, and Ally's grandmother at the table. Violet's father and his new partner had left after being the target of Ben's mother's acid tongue, and now Violet and Sherlock were on their way out as well.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Violet whispered to him, as they left the restaurant via the stairs, after saying their farewells to the remaining family members.

"Remind me to invite you to my parents' home for Christmas dinner. This doesn't quite hold a candle to that."

"Hey guys," Ben said, as he caught up with them outside. "So sorry about Mum!" he apologised to Violet, giving her a hug.

"Don't worry. She was like that my entire childhood. I don't see why she would've changed by now."

"Sherlock," Ben said with a smile, extending his hand.

"Ben. Good to meet you," Sherlock said amiably, shaking Ben's hand.

"What did you make of all that? Come up with any interesting insights?"

"I don't think anyone really hid their true feelings up there," Sherlock commented. "Although Ally's grandmother did steal the garlic bread from one of her grandchildren's plates. Nothing scandalous though," Sherlock joked.

"Good man!" Ben said, slapping Sherlock lightly on the forearm. "See you tomorrow!" he called back over his shoulder and he sprinted back upstairs to the restaurant.

Violet wrapped her arms around Sherlock. "And that, was my family."

Sherlock took this opportunity to kiss Violet passionately. They'd hardly had a moment since their reunion back at the hotel. They had been apart two weeks, and after this weekend Violet had another week in Glasgow, and then some studio filming in Cardiff. He wanted to make the most of their time together.

"Mmm, let's not start what we can't finish," Violet murmured as Sherlock kissed her neck. "And we're standing in a busy street in Manchester, remember!"

"What are the alleyways like in Manchester?" Sherlock whispered.

"Full of drug addicts! Come on!" Violet moved away from Sherlock to signal a taxi across the street.

"I think Dad likes you," Violet said, snuggling up to Sherlock in the back of the cab. "At least you made his new girlfriend laugh."

"Yes, well you know I can turn on the charm when I want to," Sherlock replied smugly.

"Mmm, and now I have anecdotal evidence to prove just how charming you can be!" Violet teased.

"The site's been removed, so now you'll just have to find some other saucy material to read at bedtime."

Violet giggled. "That's what you think!"

"What? Why?"

"I knew you'd get Mycroft to delete it or something, so I made an offline copy of it!"

"What!"

"Something to read on those lonely nights away from you. Some of them are very well-written!" She laughed as Sherlock scowled. "My favourite one is the..."

"Shhh! Or there'll never be another alleyway encounter for you as long as you live!"

They rode in relative silence, with Violet intermittently sniggering to herself, until they got to the hotel.

"We're still a bit too early for the club, so we can... relax for a bit?" Violet said suggestively.

"I'll go check in with John, while you have a lie down then," Sherlock said, striding down the corridor past their room.

_That's not what I meant_, Violet thought.

When Sherlock returned to their room at a quarter to eleven, he found Violet sound asleep. He gently roused her and demanded she have a shower to wake up.

She emerged from the bathroom fully made up, and set about dressing in her clubbing clothes. By half past eleven, she was ready.

"Ah, am I underdressed?" John asked, eyeing Violet's outfit when they stopped by his room on their way out.

"No. You look like the perfect body guard," Violet reassured him, rubbing his arm.

"If missing a few inches," muttered Sherlock.

"Shut up!" John scolded. "And where will you be?" he asked as they made their way down the elevator.

"Across the road, probably."

"Across the road is a laundromat," Violet said. "There's a cafe a little way down the street. That may be more comfortable for you. It's not like we need you to rush in, all guns blazing?"

"No, but I can come in and wring some necks if need be."

Their taxi deposited them outside the cafe. Sherlock pulled Violet into his arms, and whispered, "Be careful! Stay alert! And don't pretend to be undercover or anything. Be open about why you're there."

Then he kissed her fully on the lips while John awkwardly turned away. John was used to seeing Violet wrapping her arms around Sherlock, or initiating a kiss, but not the other way around. He wasn't used to seeing Sherlock in a sentimental, loving boyfriend role just yet.

"So, do we just walk right in?" John asked as they drew closer to the crowd forming a line outside Kabuki's.

"No. These bouncers don't know me. We'll have to ask, but there's no way I'm lining up first though."

They walked to the front of the line. The bouncer manning the rope looked at them authoritatively.

"Hi!" Violet said, exuding charm, "I'm Violet Hunter, can I..."

"Back of the line. No special treatment here."

"That's not what I meant," Violet added quickly.

"Celebrity or not. Back of the line!"

_So he did recognise her_, thought John. He looked along the line. _We'll be ages getting in_.

"Can you just call Danny on your little phone thing," Violet said, waving her fingertips at the bouncer.

"Danny?"

"Yes, Danny. Then move aside so he can see," she suggested, indicating the CCTV camera mounted on the wall above the door.

The bouncer spoke into his headset. "Monitor," he said. "Refer to Dan."

They waited a beat, while Violet hurriedly signed an autograph for a couple of girls standing behind them. John stood his ground, legs slightly apart, both hands crossed in front of him, looking every bit the part.

"Can you?" One of the girls held out her phone to John as both girls stood on either side of Violet, posing. John sighed, then took the photo.

"Okay, that's enough!" he yelled, when another couple held out their phones.

The bouncer listened on his headset for a few seconds, then unhooked the rope barrier allowing them to pass through to the door.

"Thank you," John muttered as they entered.

Violet called back to him as the full volume of the music hit them. "At the far wall is a staircase leading to the part of the first floor that isn't accessible to the public. We need a key card to access the private bar, so hopefully Danny or someone will come down and let us in. We'll head that way anyway."

John followed closely behind Violet, surveying the dance floor and thinking, _I'm one hundred years old. Look at these kids. They must be no older than twelve!_

He hadn't noticed that a young man, with a short-cropped haircut, grey suit and tie had enveloped Violet in a hug. He was just about to do his security guy job and pry the guy off when they pulled apart and John could see Violet was smiling.

"This is John - my guy," Violet yelled, indicating John. "John, this is Danny. He works for Jake."

"Hey!" John said, barely able to hear Violet above the music.

He followed both Violet and Danny as they wove through the crowd to the back of the club, then ascended a winding staircase. At the top, at the end of a short corridor, Danny swiped his card next to a glass door that opened into the private bar.

Before they entered, Danny turned to Violet and said, "He might be a bit pissed off you didn't call first, but, hey, only you can soften him up, right?"

"Sure," Violet answered, feeling slightly nervous for the first time since they'd entered the club.

"He's at the back with some guests," Danny indicated, then he turned to John, "Can I get you a drink, buddy? Up at the bar?"

John nodded, as Violet turned to give him a reassuring smile. John sat at the bar and watched as Violet approached Jake and a rather large crowd of people sitting on curved sofas at one end of the room.

Violet clenched one fist, digging her nails into her hand as she wished she'd had a couple of drinks first.

"Fucking hell!" Jake remarked, rising out of his seat and smiling at Violet. He strode over to her and grabbed her in a hug. But it was all a show evidently, because he hissed into her ear, "What the fuck are you doing here? Turn around and the walk the hell out of here now."

Violet pulled back from Jake a little, her eyes shining brightly. "Aren't you going to get me a drink first?"

Jake dropped his arms from Violet as she moved to make her way over to the sofas.

"Well if it isn't Violet fucking Hunter!"

Violet turned toward the voice.

_Sebastian Moran._


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Jake took Violet gently by the hand and led her over to the sofa.

"Come and have a seat. Dan'll bring you a drink."

Jake glanced at the bar, giving Danny a significant look, while John looked on in a panic.

_Sebastian Moran._

John hadn't spotted him sitting there in the dark, until he heard the man say Violet's name. Sherlock had shown John a brief file he was able to 'acquire' from his frequent trips to the N.O.C.A offices, so John knew what Moran at least looked like.

"Look at you!" he was saying now to Violet as she sat down on one side of Jake, and next to a young man she didn't know. "A fucking celebrity! The last time I saw yeh, yeh were a fucking crack whore, eh Jake?"

"Nice to see you too, Mr Moran," Violet replied, smiling sweetly at him.

_I thought she should've decked him,_ John thought, unsure of how close a proximity he should be keeping. He clenched and unclenched his left hand.

_Did Sherlock know Moran would be here? Did he guess? Did he think there was the slightest chance? And did he want Violet to encounter him?_

Violet let her eyes run over Moran. She didn't recognise him at all. Moran was a solid, balding, bespectacled Mancunian. The small amount of hair he had at the back of his head, he'd shaven. Of his face, he hadn't shaved for a couple of days, a full beard and mustache threatening to cover his face any day now. He wore a light blue shirt, dark blue tie featuring stripes and polka dots and a light bluish-grey jacket, which looked like it was in need of a good iron. And he spoke surprisingly softly, given his reputation.

The young men sitting on either side of him, mini-Morans, Violet thought, were dressed similarly. They had shaven heads, light-coloured suits and black ties. They looked about twenty. _He's fucking them,_ she said to herself. And another thought occurred to her - obviously that was the same impression he'd made on her whenever she'd met him before.

A couple of other young men were seated amongst them, with their companions - the women carbon copies of each other - blonde, tight tops, breasts spilling over, mini skirts. A young lady, another blonde, dressed slightly more modestly, was sitting on the other side of Jake, giving Violet a filthy look. _Is this the 'someone' Jake was seeing now? _thought Violet. _Are you kidding me?_

"Well, we are honoured. Eh, lads? Honoured to be sittin' 'ere with a fucking famous actress, all the way from London. Where's 'er drink, Jake. Oi! You fucking nob! Yeah you!" he said, calling Danny over by the bar, who was already preparing a vodka for Violet. Danny brought Violet's drink over, winked at her, then returned to sit at the bar, where he tried to engage John in conversation.

Jake in the meantime, had put his arm on the back of the sofa behind Violet and leant in to her, whispering, "One drink and then leave."

"Violet!" one of the girls spoke up. "Tell us what's happened to Christa now that she's in Cornwall. What's happenin'?"

Violet shrugged. "The writer's haven't written a side story about that. I'm no longer on the show, so Christa won't be featuring at all."

"What?" the blonde asked, puzzled.

"You stupid twat!" her companion commented. "When someone's written outta the show they're not livin' their life somewhere else. You're a fucking mental case!"

"Oh shut it!" she retorted.

The other blonde spoke up, "What's Shaun like in real life?"

"Eh, fuck-faces, why don't you lovely ladies take your delightful conversation elsewhere. Go on, shove off!" Moran said politely with a hint of menace.

The three blondes stood up, smoothed down their short skirts and sulkily made their way over to the bar.

Jake squeezed Violet's hand as Moran said, "Now, Violet. How's about a charity gig, where you come to my club and be a guest DJ? Do you do that? I've had plenty of stars do that, right. Jimmy whats-his-face and that slut from Sussex Sons came last month, and that big-breasted whore from your show came before that. I think she fucking passed out in the loo. What do ye say? Free blow an' all?"

Violet replied slowly, "I'd have to run that by my agent."

"Agent? A fucking agent? I'm not talking to a fuckin' middle man. This is between us, right? Mates. Jake is me mate, and you're 'is fucking tart. I don't have time for a fucking agent."

Violet's heart began to race and her jaw jutted forward as she went to respond, however Jake spoke first, "Hey, just settle it down, Seb. Violet and I are no longer together, right?"

"Huh, that's right. The boyfriend," Moran muttered, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. Then he addressed the guy on the other side of Violet, "Oi! Buzzhead! Shove off!"

Moran stood up and took the seat vacated by the young man. He leant in close to Violet and said, "I wanted to know how your boyfriend was doing - the detective? Dodgy job, that. You never know when 'e's likely to come to a sticky end with a job like that - get 'is 'ead blown off or somethink."

_Here it comes,_ Violet thought. _Just play it cool._ "Well he's had a pretty good run lately. Most criminals are morons at best," Violet began, echoing words she'd once heard Sherlock mutter. "Running around with their heads stuck up their arses half the time," Violet replied sweetly once again.

Moran's half grin turned into a sneer. He placed his hand on Violet's thigh and whispered into her ear, "You know you had much better manners after you'd had a needle stuck up your arm and Jake's dick stuck up your arse, you fucking twat."

Violet inwardly cringed at Moran's touch. Steeling herself she said back to him, "My dear Mr Moran, we all know you'd be much more polite after a little back door action yourself. So who's shoving their dick up your arse these days?"

A fire came into Moran's eyes as he grabbed Violet around her throat and stood up, pulling her with him. Violet grabbed his hand, panicking as Moran applied pressure. Jake had immediately stood up and placed his hand over Moran's forearm as John and Danny both strode over from the bar.

"Seb," Jake said in a low voice.

"Moran!" John barked, striding toward the man, but Danny grabbed John's arm stopping him. At that same moment Moran released his grip on Violet.

Violet bent down gasping for air, holding her throat as Moran looked from Jake to John and Danny. Then he swung his head around to examine his own group of men, all still lounging around on the sofa.

"What the fuck...!" he began, about to direct a torrent of abuse at his lazy arse fuckers.

Violet straightened up and said menacingly, "You fucking wanker!" and to John's horror she spat in his face. Jake grabbed Violet's arm and marched her away from Moran as his boys all rushed to his aid with napkins, Moran yelling, "You're fucking dead! I'm going to fucking piss on yeh! You're a fucking dead cunt, yeh hear?"

Jake didn't stop until he was put of the door of the private bar and in the short corridor outside. Danny and John had followed.

John caught up to Violet and said, "Violet, are you all..." as Jake spun around and said, "Are you fucking crazy? What was that?"

Violet looked calmly at Jake and said, "If you had any sense you'd distance yourself from that fucking lowlife, Jake."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Violet. You shouldn't have come here!"

"I came to deliver a message. From Sherlock. No fucking way is he giving up this case."

"What? Am I talking business with you now?"

"You brought me into this business the moment you visited me in London and tried to fuck me, you fucking coked-up piece of shit!"

John's jaw just about dropped. One or two details about the whole Violet/Jake/Moran story Sherlock may have omitted to tell him.

Jake's fist clenched by his side, but he stood, immobile, glaring at Violet.

"Jake," Danny warned.

"Get her the fuck outta here," Jake ordered to Danny, but not taking his eyes from Violet.

"You're making a mistake," Violet said coolly. "Moran is going to jail. If you give up any..."

"You don't know what you're fucking talking about!" Jake yelled. "You don't know these people!"

"Them tell me about them."

Jake moved closer to Violet, put one arm around her waist and leant in, whispering "I love you, Violet. But I'm done with you. I can't help you anymore."

He gave her one more meaningful look as Violet followed his movements back through the door and into the private club.

"You right?" Danny asked.

"Yes. We're going." She moved over and hugged Danny, saying, "Just take care of him, okay?"

Danny nodded. "Take care of yourself, hey Violet."

"John?" Violet turned and took off down the staircase, John at her heels. She seemed to be able to weave in and out of the crowds far more efficiently than John, who kept pausing and saying "Excuse me" to all who got in his way.

Back outside, Violet moved swiftly along the still fairly long queue. John breathlessly spoke into his phone to Sherlock, "We're out, heading towards the cafe...fine...no, she's... I dunno...we'll see you in a tick...Sherlock, Moran was there."

Sherlock dodged the traffic, and crossed the road at a light sprint. He pulled Violet into his arms.

"Are you all right? What happened?" he demanded.

"I'm fine!" Violet replied, feeling slightly annoyed.

"Sherlock, Violet, we should keep moving," John suggested, indicating a couple of people who had stopped, one of which was holding up their phone to the trio.

"In a minute," Sherlock replied irritably. He strode over to the couple, grabbed the phone and tossed it into the street, snarling, "Fetch!"

"Hey, fucking wanker!" one of them yelled, as Sherlock hailed a cab.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" Violet protested.

Sherlock was on edge. Sitting in a coffee shop while Violet and John were in the club did nothing for his nerves. What was he thinking! He suspected Moran would be in there. The surveillance notes he had studied over and over again in the last few months indicated that Kabuki's was a favourite haunt of Moran's. He had just neglected to prepare Violet and John for that possibility.

Once they'd piled into the taxi, Sherlock asked again, "What happened?"

"Did you have to do that?" Violet asked, looking through the rear window at the couple who were standing on the pavement, examining the smashed phone.

"What - happened?" Sherlock repeated.

"I gave them your message," Violet said simply.

John cleared his throat.

"And?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"It wasn't well-received," Violet replied.

"Violet," John started. He still hadn't quite caught his breath back. "I'm not sure if you have a death wish or not but..."

"That dick insulted me. I insulted him back. Run of the mill encounter really."

"Violet spat on him," John said confessed.

Sherlock eyes remained on Violet. She looked back at him defiantly. Then Sherlock grinned, and laughed, his low rumbling sort of laugh as Violet smiled back. He then pressed his forehead against Violet's.

"I don't wish you on anyone when you're in a foul mood," he murmured.

John tutted and looked out of the window.

"Somehow I think these people aren't the type to unleash your angry girlfriend onto."

Violet pulled Sherlock in for a kiss, momentarily forgetting that John was in the back of the taxi with them. John remained staring out of the window, wishing he were miles away. He cleared his thoat again.

* * *

The wedding, by contrast, was very low key. Sherlock was very attentive in the small church, listening intently to the sermon, readings and vows. He was slightly more impatient during the photo session. It reminded him of the TELSAs really. The only good part, he found, was when the alcohol came out.

For the reception, at the The View restaurant and bar overlooking the River Irwell, Ben and Ally had rearranged the seating so that no one from either family was sitting at Ben's mother's table. Sherlock and Violet's father engaged in an interesting discussion about home loan fraud, while the other half of the time over dinner Ally's grandmother quizzed Sherlock over the Bronson Twin's murder. A popular case with the elderly it seemed.

Sherlock sat thoughtfully listening to the speeches, even reaching under the table to hold Violet's hand at one stage.

Ally's grandmother lured Sherlock onto the dance floor after the Bridal waltz had concluded and all the other guests were dancing - Violet having stolen some floor time with the groom.

As the romantic music continued, Sherlock won his girlfriend back, and they slow danced, Sherlock's arms around Violet's waist, hers embracing his neck, both oblivious to everyone else, as if they were back in Baker Street.

Sherlock was feeling quite drunk and extra amorous. He was eventually able to lure Violet away from the reception for a good 15 minutes because he'd spied a seedy dark area underneath a jetty down by the water's edge.

He fucked her good and proper there - and not a hair out of place.

* * *

Violet was exhausted. She'd spent half the week commuting between London and Cardiff, recording the internal scenes for the mini-series and re-recording the dialogue for some of the external scenes shot in Scotland on particularly windy days.

Sherlock was exhausted. He had no cases, apart from the slow plodding Moran case. He spent most of his days stretched out on his couch, in pyjamas, waiting for Violet to return. She was usually grumpy and tired and no fun at all.

Violet couldn't fathom why Sherlock couldn't clean up a bit, have dinner ready, or have done some laundry.

Sherlock couldn't fathom why Violet couldn't just enter the flat, mount him on the couch, and spend the rest of the evening there, snuggling up and occasionally snogging. Who needed to eat anyway?

And he'd preferred the idleness of couch slothing to the call of his brother. Sherlock, once again, found himself ignoring Mycroft's texts and phonecalls. He did owe him a case though.

On Wednesday evening, Violet strolled in, looking particularly perky.

"Come on!" she said brightly, to the grey lump which was Sherlock. "I'm taking you out to dinner. I've been offered two other parts!"

"Let's order in," he waved weakly from his reclined position.

"No!" Violet picked up a cushion and whacked him over the head with it. "We're going out. We're going to have fun and celebrate. Any maybe, if you're nice to me, we'll have sex afterwards."

"Let's have sex now," Sherlock said, sitting up, and rubbing his hair. "I'm half-way there already."

"Look, if this is how you're going to be because there's no cases, I'm going to fucking commit murder myself. Get ready! Now!" she yelled, exiting the living room. "I'll be back in 15 minutes!"

Sherlock scowled as he watched Violet sprint upstairs.

Two more parts? he thought. When will she give up this play-acting fantasy and get a real job?

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair scanning news sites for anything interesting: unsolved murders, mysterious disappearings, murderous orangutans, when Violet re-entered the room.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I didn't hear what you asked me," Sherlock replied in his defence. "You were talking too quickly."

"What? Since when does anyone talk too quickly for you? It's usually the other way round."

"Tell me again, and start from the beginning," he said, closing his laptop lid and stowing it on the floor.

"Can you just get dressed while I'm telling you?"

With a sigh Sherlock rose from his chair, and padded toward his bedroom. Violet followed him saying, "My agent called me with two job offers - one is the sequel to Anuket's Children...the super hero action movie?"

A blank look from Sherlock.

".. the one where the whole geek-verse was speculating as to who would play Satis? Hello? Me?" she prompted when Sherlock again gave no reaction. "Nile goddess? Gazelle horns?" she said holding her arms up above her head. "I might get to be an action figure!"

Sherlock looked at Violet as if she really had sprouted gazelle horns.

"And the other movie?" he asked, hoping it was something of this earth.

Not the excited response Violet was hoping for.

"The other is a film noir - I get to play a murderous detective!" she beamed. "Although I shouldn't have told you that - it's supposed to be a twist."

Sherlock silently dressed as Violet spoke.

"They're both U.S. productions..."

No reaction from Sherlock.

"The action movie will be filmed in Australia..."

Sherlock scoffed.

"And the detective movie in New York."

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

"Good," he said, "That's good," he raised his eyebrows at her expectantly as if waiting for something more, then resumed doing up his shirt buttons.

"Okay," Violet said.

"And why are we going out to dinner?" Sherlock asked, grabbing his trousers from a chair.

"To celebrate," Violet replied, feeling slightly dejected.

"Celebrate what?"

Violet glared at him. "Getting the parts!"

"Oh." Then he thought. "Do we also get to celebrate every time I get a new case?"

"Why are you being such a..." Violet stormed out of the room. Sherlock followed, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

Violet turned back to face him in the living room. "You know what? Just don't, okay? Don't bother. I'm ringing Mandi."

She rummaged into her bag for her phone as Sherlock spoke, "You're going to walk out - again? What is it with you and these dramatic exits? If you have a problem then talk about it. Don't make these fucking ultimatums then storm out."

"Why can't you be happy for me?" she yelled, her voice straining.

"What's to be happy about? You just told me you're going to be working on the other side of the world."

"It's the parts! It's whose making it! They're movies! I'm going to be in two movies! That means something to me...and so it should to you," her voice choking at her last words.

"Violet."

"Don't!" Violet moved away from Sherlock as he moved toward her. "Don't comfort me! Why do you fucking upset me in the first place? Why can't you just react to good news normally? I'm sick of explaining to you why you should have every fucking emotion - react like a normal fucking human being for once!"

Sherlock stopped. Her words cut him. He turned, wounded, and walked out of the living room. As he entered his bedroom, he heard Violet's footsteps descending the stairs, then the sound of the front door slamming shut.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his armchair, by the fire, reading. He heard the front door open, then the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps on the stairwell. This was a strange deja-vu - his first encounter with a drunken Violet on the landing was almost a year ago.

And there she was. Leaning on the side of the living room door as before, she said, "Yes, I'm drunk. I'm going to sleep upstairs. I don't care if I don't remember a fucking thing tomorrow."

* * *

Violet woke, head pounding. Her bed, her bedroom.

_Fuck. Still fighting with Sherlock._

She put all those thoughts, and the thoughts of _how did last night pan out_ and _how did she get home, _from her mind. Her immediate thoughts were her queazy tummy, and the bile forming in her throat.

_Oh_.

She was going to throw up.

She made it into her bathroom just in time. Thoughts of _I'm dying _and_ Serves me fuckin' right _alternating through her mind. She then sat in the bottom of her shower and stayed that way, legs up, arms crossed, head resting on her arms under the steamy hot water for what seemed like an hour.

When she could just manage the throbbing in her head, she turned off the shower, dried herself, and pulled on her dressing gown. She combed through her wet tangles so that she didn't look like a complete train wreck, and made her way downstairs to face the wrath of Sherlock.

He was nowhere in sight.

There was, however, a note stuck to the fridge:

[ Mandi rang me. She has your phone. She will drop by this afternoon. SH ]

No "P.S. I love you" or anything, Violet lamented. Well, she had been a bit of a bitch to him.

Her small celebratory night out with Mandi turned into a much bigger night than Violet had initially anticipated. She had also phoned Matt, who brought both Nathan and Chenoa. Mandi brought Gavin, and Gavin's sister who was in town for the week. Violet also phoned Rhiannon, a woman she'd met on the set of the Hilderness drama, who played Catherine's best friend. And Rhiannon brought a couple of her friends too.

Mandi had confiscated Violet's phone when Violet said she was going to call Sherlock and apologise.

"Never do that while you're drunk, honey," Mandi had advised her, then promptly removed her phone.

When Sherlock returned home early that evening, Mandi had just left and Violet was fixing herself a piece of toast with vegemite. She had acquired a taste for the yeasty spread when they'd holidayed in Australia before Christmas.

Sherlock glanced at Violet as she sat down in her armchair with her plate of toast.

"Hi," she said, her mouth full.

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and said, "A woman just leapt from the Villier's Street bridge. A note was found but was probably not her handwriting. I've just been to the lab examining the blood samples found on the railing. Not hers."

"That's nice," Violet commented faintly. Funny world, when a suicide should bring some joy to Baker Street, and a role in not one but two movies should bring such sorrow and anger.

"I won't be here long," Sherlock said, making his way over to the living room table and picking up the pile of unsorted mail. "I'm just waiting for hear from Molly."

He walked over to his armchair and sat down, pulling over the cardboard box where he and Violet (mostly Violet) had been disposing of the fan mail until a particularly chilly day when they'd need to light the fire. He looked up at Violet and they both regarded each other, each one thinking _I'm not going to be the one to apologise first._ When nothing was said, Sherlock looked back down at the mail and started sorting and throwing envelopes into the box.

"They're mostly for you," he concluded, rising from his chair. "Might get worse when you're a child's plastic toy."

Violet breathed out. She wasn't going to re-hash the same argument again. Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"Why is this so important to you?" he began. Violet rolled her eyes while she still had her back to him. "Don't they have a film industry in the U.K.? Why do you have to go to another country?"

"That's where the work is at the moment. I have an opportunity and I'd be mad not to take it." She turned around in her chair as she continued. "The casting directors for both films look for actors in both the U.K. and Australia for American-based production companies. A lot of the action films are filmed out of Australia anyway, and British actors can sometimes be paid more cheaply than American actors."

"So you're just cheap labour."

"Way to grasp the most negative aspect and hold onto that, Sherlock. Makes me feel really good."

Violet stood up. "I know you don't have any regard for my profession, but I thought you at least cared for me enough to respect my work. If you must know, I was recommended by a director here in the U.K. for both parts. Me. Violet Hunter. I do have some credentials you know."

"Hardly credible work when you're going to be wearing fake horns, flying through make-believe worlds with millions of adoring fans wearing t-shirts and underwear with your face plastered on them. How does that sit with your artistic integrity?"

"It's about being marketable as an actor."

"Marketability? Now you're saying something honest. Not about whether you're particularly convincing in your role. What ever happened to that? Acting? Or are you just a product now?"

Violet looked over at him, feeling ill. "I respect what you do, Sherlock. You're amazing, so fucking...incredible at what you do. I don't know why you're..."

"No red carpet rolled out for me whenever I go to Scotland Yard, or fucking award ceremonies for best deduction by a wayward fingerprint..."

"Just stop it!"

Sherlock's phone buzzed. "Good," he muttered, leaving the kitchen for the living room. He grabbed his coat from the back of the door.

"Sherlock," Violet began.

"Don't wait up," he said, shrugging on his coat. "I don't know how late I'll be."

"I won't be here," Violet stated. "I'm going out."

"Again?"

"It's Thursday night. Practically the weekend. I still have something to celebrate. With people who care."

Sherlock looked her up and down, a hint of disappointment on his face. Then he left.

* * *

"Violet. Violet!"

Violet opened her eyes. She was in Sherlock's bed, but then again, she knew this - having only consumed two drinks the night before. She'd come home to an empty flat, and decided to sleep back in Sherlock's room while waiting for him. She didn't hear him come in at all, and was wondering why he was waking her so early. There was a bit of natural light in the room, so it wasn't ridiculously early.

"What?" she murmured.

"Wake up."

"I am awake."

"No, wake up properly. I've just got some bad news."

Well, now she was awake.

"What?" she asked, slowly sitting up and moving back so she could lean against the headboard.

Sherlock looked very tense. He was dressed in his regular shirt and trousers.

"I just got off the phone with Lestrade. It's Jake. He's in hospital."

"What?"

"He's in intensive care."

"Why? How?"

"Beaten up. Within an inch of his life. They don't have many details yet."

Violet felt bewildered. Partly to do with having just woken up.

"You've got a couple of missed calls on your phone. From Danny. He may know more."

Sherlock handed Violet her phone as she sat up straighter, then swung her legs off the bed. She rubbed her face with one hand, before pressing the key to dial Danny.

Sherlock paced his small bedroom, not knowing whether to give Violet her privacy or not.

"Danny?" Violet listened for a while, muttered "Fuck!" once or twice and bent over, resting her head on her hand. She sniffed, signifying to Sherlock that she was crying as she listened. "Can I?" she said quietly. "Okay, thanks. I'll call you when I'm there."

She ended the call and put her phone down on the bedside table. She rose from the bed as Sherlock stopped pacing.

"Um," she said looking down, "I just have to...um...go..."

"I'll come with you," Sherlock said gently. He reached out and rubbed her shoulders.

"No, you've got a case," she replied tonelessly, slipping by him and exiting his room.

Sherlock couldn't let Violet go to Manchester without him, not with this unresolved conflict between them and not to go back to a place already emotionally charged for her.

"I've solved the case," he called after her, then he followed her through the kitchen into the living area, where she just sat feeling numb, in her armchair. "The next train leaves for Manchester at ten."

"What's the time now?"

"Seven."

"It's my fault," she said, hugging the Union Jack cushion. "He's been punished because of my behaviour in the club."

"How do you know this?" Sherlock asked, taking his seat across from Violet.

"Danny said Jake was out ... trying to score. Danny's always with him, but he was trying to keep him clean. Jake purposefully went out when Danny was on another job. He ended up buying from another dealer not in his area, and he was jumped just outside."

"This wasn't his usual routine then?" Sherlock asked, his mind already clicking into gear.

"No. He'd been clean for a while."

"So, an opportunistic attack then. Not preconceived. Probably not a hit," Sherlock muttered. "He wasn't shot like the others."

"What?"

"Ronald Adair and John Douglas."

"Who knows what may have happened if they were interrupted? When Danny realised Jake had given him the slip, he knew exactly where he'd gone. He must've come upon the ..."

"Assailants."

"Yes."

"The police don't know any of this do they?"

"I don't think so."

"We'll have to see if we..._you_...can question Jake when he comes round."

Violet looked at Sherlock with a questioning look. "You don't care about him do you?"

"Violet," Sherlock replied in exasperation.

"I don't want you there."

"Don't you want his attackers brought to justice?"

"Jake can get his own kind of justice."

"He's lying half dead in a hospital room! What kind of justice can he dish out from there?"

"He has people!"

Sherlock looked at Violet. She was staring back at him defiantly. He wasn't the enemy here. Why was she looking at him like that?

"Violet, don't start me on this whole fucking underworld way of living. You seem to be swinging between your world of entertainment, full of fans worshipping you and laying out red carpets for you to walk on, following your every move on twitter, and the next minute you're secretly visiting heroin addicts and plotting revenge for some kind of gangster warfare. Why can't you live in the fucking real world..."

He stood up.

"...with me," he added, his voice was hoarse with emotion. He strode out of the living room and into his own, slamming the door behind him.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

"Please stop being angry with me. Everything's going fucking wrong! Can we start again? Sherlock, please?"

She lifted his face from resting on his own hands and kissed him. Sherlock moved his hands around Violet's face, and pulled her toward him. They'd both ached for this over the last two days - they're dual stubbornness remained a barrier for that long.

Sherlock moved from the edge of the bed, lying back, bringing Violet down on top of him. No thoughts of conflict right now, just their mutual desire to inhabit each other's bodies again. They tore away at each other's clothes, kissing and biting and caressing.

These arguments had scared Sherlock more than any other. They seemed unable to be resolved. His opinion about Violet's job had remained unchanged. How could he pretend he thought any other way? And the more successful she became, the more she would disappear into this phony world of entertainment. She would cease to be his, and become a product owned by the rest of the world.

And yet he couldn't ask her to leave it. It was all she lived and breathed. Imagine if she asked him to give up solving cases? He would resent her asking, as she would ultimately resent Sherlock. How were they going to live with this between them?

And her past: her connection to underworld figures. You can't change your past. And she won't leave it behind.

He made love to her, thinking _How could I ever live without her?_ He had always been both repulsed and excited at this level of emotion he was now capable of possessing.

They both finished - the sex furious in its execution, fierce in its conclusion.

Sherlock pulled Violet toward him, where they lay side by side, facing each other, arms and legs entwined.

Sherlock whispered. "We need to talk about this some more. I promise not to get angry."

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do...what kind of question is that?"

Violet snuggled her head in under Sherlock's chin, tilting her head slightly so her cheek was warmed by Sherlock's chest. They fell asleep like this - Sherlock having pulled an all-nighter at the lab again. He got back home at 5am but couldn't sleep. He'd received the call from Lestrade at 6:30 and debated waking Violet or not. She had left her bag, and therefore her phone in the living room, and Sherlock had muted its ringing tones when Danny called. Sherlock didn't think it appropriate that he answer, but he knew what the call would be about anyway.

"Violet," he whispered, waking her up again. "It's 8.30. We should get ready so we can get the train."

Violet stretched and yawned. "I love you," she whispered.

* * *

Danny had a car pick them up from the station, so they could get around Manchester a little bit more discreetly. The Manchester Royal Infirmary North Road entrance was buzzing with local news crews, keen for some insight into the violent bashing of an underworld figure, so the driver circled the hospital, letting them out via the Boulevarde side.

"I don't understand these maps," Violet comment irritably, staring at the directory once they were inside.

Sherlock quickly scanned it, then said, "This way - red line."

With a sigh, Violet followed him, occasionally running a little to keep up with his long stride. Soon enough they found themselves in the Emergency department.

"Violet!" A young man, in his early 20s, with sandy blonde hair, tired blue eyes, t-shirt, jeans and boots approached Violet.

"Andrew!" she exclaimed, and they embraced while Sherlock stood by.

"Are you all right? How is he?" Violet quickly asked.

"They've taken him away for another x-ray. I've seen him. He's awake. Bit groggy. Majorly fucked up."

"Oh God!" Violet exclaimed, but slightly relieved that Jake was conscious.

Andrew noticed Sherlock standing behind Violet. "Hello. You must be Sherlock," he said, extending his hand. "Andrew."

"Oh God, sorry, how rude. Sherlock, Andrew, Jake's son."

Sherlock shook hands with the young man, smiling at him politely.

"Er, don't know if you want to hang around or not, but Mum will be out soon," Andrew said, shifting nervously.

"Oh. Okay. Probably not. I thought Danny would be here?"

"He's getting coffee."

"Is it family only?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. They're only letting family in. But Dan's gonna sneak Stacey in later tonight."

"Stacey?"

Andrew looked sheepish. "Dad's new... ah...girlfriend?"

"Oh."

"Let's get coffee, hey?" Sherlock suggested, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

"I'll call you later, right?" Andrew said, hugging Violet again.

"Thanks, keep me posted."

Sherlock took Violet by the hand and gave her an encouraging smile while they navigated the hospital corridors in search of the nearest coffee machine or cafe. They ran into Danny, coming the other way.

"Violet," he said warmly, and gave her a quick hug, feeling self-conscious in Sherlock's presence. "I don't think we've met yet," he said to Sherlock, extending his hand, "Dan."

Sherlock hesitated a moment, then gripped Danny's hand. "Sherlock." Then he turned to Violet and said, "I'll just go on ahead. I can smell the coffee around the corner."

"I'll be there soon," Violet replied, smiling.

"Is he all right being here?" Danny asked, indicating the direction Sherlock took.

"He's here for me. He's fine."

"Sorry, I just realised Monica would be here too. You didn't run into her did you?" Danny asked Violet.

"No, thank God. But why would she be here? Does she care? Are ex-wives still considered family?"

Danny looked puzzled. "They're not divorced."

Violet was momentarily stunned. She breathed out, looked away and shook her head slightly.

"Sorry, Violet."

_You fucking lied to me, Jake,_ she thought.

"Well, at least he still gets his girlfriend to visit him," she said with less enthusiasm.

"Girlfriend?"

"Stacey?"

"Ah. No."

"Not his girlfriend, or not visiting?"

"Both. Frequent fuck, more likely. I don't think he can stand her, to be honest. And no, not visiting."

"Oh. Okay. I'm confused then. Andrew said you were sneaking her in later tonight."

"Ah," Danny commented, scratching his head and half smiling. "Right, I see where the misunderstanding came in. I was telling Andrew that Jake had something to look forward to tonight because he asked me to sneak in his...beloved. He was referring to you."

"Oh."

"You'll come back?"

"Not under that label."

Danny grinned. "Of course. He wants to see you though."

"Can you pick me up?"

"Yeah, about eleven."

"All right. I'll see you then."

* * *

"I just need to check on my friend."

"I'll come with you," Sherlock offered, staring out at the rain drops snaking their way down the glass of the hotel window.

"No. Please don't. It's just Em and me. We just watch the telly together. I buy her peanut butter. That's all."

She walked over to where Sherlock stood by the window, taking in his look of disappointment.

"I love that you came here for me. I know it's hard for you. Everything here, everyone here was such a big part of my life once, and I just can't...pretend they don't exist. And I love them. I just need to do this. A couple of hours for Emily, and a couple of hours tonight with Jake. Please, Sherlock?"

"Emily? The girl in the photo? Em?"

"You've seen the photo in my purse? Yes, of course you've been through my purse."

Violet turned away and sat down on the bed, as Sherlock leant against the window, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. He sighed, then said, "It frustrates me that I don't know everything about you yet. Just when I think I do, something else happens. I'm just waiting for the day you tell me you're actually an alien."

He smirked.

Violet smiled in spite of herself.

"I don't know when to tell you every horrid detail. It's not like you enjoy hearing it, and it's not particularly pleasant for me to re-live it either."

"Just tell me something amusing once in a while."

"You're not really one for fluffy stories either."

"No, that's true. Forget about the warm and fuzzy stories then."

"So can I go?"

"Can you at least tell me where? The address. So I don't worry."

Violet gave Sherlock the address and recounted for him her usual steps for her visit: the op shop, the grocery store, stashing her gear in a locker at the station and hiding the key in her knickers.

"Why?"

"When I visited once with all my stuff, there was some hanger-on who wouldn't let me leave until I left him my purse, my phone and my shoes. It was kind of like a gentle mugging."

Sherlock frowned.

"And these days it's also a good cover so I don't get recognised by anyone. I'll just be a couple of hours. Okay?"

She stood up as Sherlock held out his arms to her. She let herself be enveloped in his embrace. Sherlock rubbed her back, and kissed the top of her head.

"Your secret life," he murmured.

* * *

Violet knocked and waited a beat. She slowly opened the door, expecting the scene which greeted her most times. But today only Riley was seated on the couch watching the telly. He turned to her. With a sinking heart she knew he was in need of a hit.

"Hey, Riley," she said softly.

Riley tried to smile. His skin was glistening with sweat, and he lifted a shaky hand to his mouth, drawing on his cigarette. Violet strode in, dropping the bag of groceries onto the table.

"Where's Em?"

Riley had turned back toward the TV and sniffed.

"Riley, where's Emily?" Violet said slightly louder.

She entered a passageway just off the kitchen, and went in and out of the two bedrooms. They were both empty. Violet went back into the living room and sat down next to Riley on the couch.

"Riley?" she lightly touched his arm. "Where's Em?"

"I've got the fucking flu, eh, Lettie," Riley replied, sniffing again.

"I know," Violet said, patting his arm. "But where's Em? It's too early to be on the block?"

"D-downstairs," he stammered.

"What?"

"Paying the rent."

"What? No! You're fucking kidding me!"

_No, no, Emily, God no!_

Violet leapt from the couch and swiftly exited the flat. Her heart thumping, she took the stairs two at a time. Adrenalin coursed through her veins by the time she reached the ground floor and hesitated, just for a second outside the door to the only flat on this floor.

Carlo's.

Feeling repulsed at what she might find inside, Violet opened the door and strode into the flat. She could hear him.

_Fuckin' sick bastard._

He was heaving and groaning from the bedroom.

Violet looked around wildly. _Statue. Statue of mother fucking Mary. _She grabbed in it one hand and barged into the bedroom.

Her stomach churned at the scene which confronted her. Carlo, jeans pulled down below his hips, was thrusting into an immobile young woman, her skirt pushed up above her waist. One arm hung limply off the side of the bed, a tangle of jet black hair spilled onto a pillow, just visible behind Carlo's.

"Get off her!" Violet yelled.

Carlo looked up slightly, and moaned again, turning his head to the side away from Violet.

He's having an orgasm, Violet thought, her blood boiling. Rage filled her every muscle in her body as she gripped the statue in both hands. Swinging it like a baseball bat, she connected it with Carlo's skull.

"Oorff! Fuck!" he yelled, mid-thrust, falling sideways. He tried to rise from the bed, but fell off the side of it.

"You fucker!" Violet screamed, tossing the statue aside, and then she kicked him, hard, in the stomach.

"You sick fuck!" And again in the stomach. "Don't get up. If you fuckin' get up I'll crack you on the skull again, do you hear me!"

Then she turned to the bed and took in her friend's lifeless, naked form.

"Em?" she said softly. "Emily?" _Oh God._

Emily moved a little and murmured something incoherent.

"Emily? Come on, sweetie. Here..." Violet pulled Emily's skirt down. Her shirt was also half way up, probably in order for Carlo to grope her breasts Violet thought in disgust. She pulled the shirt down when Emily opened her eyelids slightly.

"Lettie?" she whispered.

"Shhh, I'm here."

Carlo groaned from the floor. Violet spun around to look at him. He was curled up, holding the back of his head with one hand and his stomach with the other. She could see blood started to seep down his arm from his head wound.

Turning back to Emily she whispered, "Come on." She helped Emily sit up on the bed. "Can you walk?"

"Mmm," Emily replied.

Violet helped Emily to stand up, one arm around her waist, with Emily's arm around Violet's shoulders. Violet turned to Carlo once more, "Don't you fucking move. I'm not finished with you yet."

She helped Emily walk slowly out into the living room, while Carlo groaned in pain again. She heard, "Cunt!" from the bedroom.

"Just stop for a sec," Violet said to Emily, lowering her down onto a tattered looking armchair. "Just for a moment," she whispered.

Violet made her way over to the kitchen and lifted the handset of the phone which was on the kitchen counter. _God, can I remember his number?_

"Danny? I'm...I'm at...," she tried to compose herself. _No time for a breakdown just yet. Panic later. Deal with this now_. "I'm at Ukara Street. Please come...I've...Emily." _Just breathe, Violet._ "I've smashed Carlo over the head. He's bleeding."

She hung up to Danny's brief "On our way" response.

"Come on," Violet said encouragingly to Emily. "Upstairs, okay? Can you manage?"

Emily nodded weakly, and they began the painstaking process of ascending three flights of stairs. She led Emily into her flat, and gently lowered her onto the couch next to Riley.

"Just stay there okay? I'll be back."

Violet rushed back downstairs, a mild panic starting to creep into her chest, rising into her throat. _Not now. _She re-entered Carlo's flat and found him leaning against his bedroom doorframe. He'd at least pulled his jeans up. With renewed anger, Violet strode up to him. As he barely raised his head to look at who was approaching him, she violently shoved him backwards into the room. He fell back onto the floor, and screamed in pain as his head jolted onto the ground.

"Don't fucking get up!" Violet yelled.

"You're fucking killing me, you bitch," Carlo said through clenched teeth, holding the back of his head again.

"Then just shut the fuck up and die!"

Violet looked down and took in the sickening image of Emily's underwear on the floor. She stooped to pick it up as Carlo suddenly lunged and grabbed her arm, yanking her down. Violet fell onto Carlo, and he grabbed her other arm, and tried to roll so she would be pinned under him. With the leverage of her feet still on the floor, Violet was able to lunge forward delivering a solid headbutt to Carlo's nose, and while he was momentarily stunned and had released her arms, she punched him hard with her right fist.

"Ah! Bitch!"

She rolled off him as he groaned yet again, sharp pains in both the front and back of his head.

Violet was fucking seething now. She stood up and lay in another swift kick, this time to Carlo's groin.

"Fucker!"

She ought to castrate him, that's what she ought to do, her mind now full of blind rage.

She dropped down to the floor, and grabbed Carlo's hair on either side of his head.

"Ah!" he gasped.

"If you ever - touch - a fuckin' hair on her head again, I'll.."

"Violet."

She froze.

_Sherlock_.

* * *

She was taking too long. He had to go. There was only so much pacing Sherlock could manage in the small confines of the hotel room. He hadn't brought his computer. They hadn't packed at all, thinking it would only be a day trip to Manchester.

Sherlock hated this secret other life of Violet's. One which was encroaching on their relatively calm life together. And on the other side, her celebrity. Soon both would consume all of Violet and there'd be nothing left of her for him.

He took a cab to the address Violet had given him. This was it. The place where Violet had spent a very character-defining time in her life. Not just a story any more. Seeing this building, this shabby, rundown block of flats, in this neighbourhood, made her story a reality. She lived it. That's why she cried when she talked about it. And Sherlock only ever visited places such as these when he was entering a crime scene.

As Sherlock entered the foyer area, he heard a male voice somewhere in a back room yell, "Bitch!"

_Charming_, he thought, until a very familiar female voice screamed, "Fucker!"

_Violet?_

Sherlock, in a mild panic, turned toward the only door on the floor. It was slightly ajar, so he swiftly entered. At the far end of a very shabby living room littered with an odd assortment of mismatched furniture, he could see a doorway leading into the main bedroom. A female figure sat crouched over a crumpled male, grabbing him by the hair.

"If you ever - touch - a fucking hair on her head again, I'll..."

"Violet," Sherlock said it more to himself, than to address this violent figure in front of him.

She froze, then released the man's head, slowly standing up as if coming out of a trance.

"Get the crazy bitch away from me!" Carlo gasped from the floor.

"You probably deserved it, Carlo," a voice spoke from behind Sherlock.

Violet looked down at her hands, which were now blood-stained.

"I have to wash my hands," she said tonelessly, not looking up at Sherlock. She brushed past him as she left the bedroom, and said to Danny who had entered the flat after Sherlock, "He's in there."

"Violet?" Sherlock said, still shocked. He grabbed at her arm, but she shrugged him off, saying, "I have to wash my hands. He's probably got HIV or something."

Sherlock followed her into a bathroom which was across a narrow passageway off the main living area, ignoring Danny and the two other guys who had accompanied him into the flat.

"Are you all right?" he asked, calming himself down a little.

"Yes. He was raping her. I was dealing with it. You shouldn't have come," she stated, carefully washing her hands thoroughly with a small sliver of soap.

_She's clearly in shock,_ Sherlock thought. _Fucking hell, what's happened here. Why is she dealing with it?_

"He's gonna be okay," Danny said, striding into the passageway, and speaking to Violet as if Sherlock wasn't there. "What you did was open up a wound he received last week from being in the wrong place at the wrong time - fucking asshole. You ripped open a couple of stitches with your hail fucking Mary back swing there."

He laughed.

Sherlock's brow furrowed, imagining the scene. _Hit in the back of the head with a blunt instrument as he raped who? Her friend?_ He remembered seeing the statue of the Virgin Mary lying on the bedroom floor. _How many times did she hit him?_ he wondered.

"Mick'll take him to the hospital to get stitched up again. I'll get Steve to take you two back to your hotel, right? Where's Em?"

"Upstairs."

Violet turned off the tap and wiped her hands on the old pair of cargo pants she'd picked up from the op shop earlier.

Danny left them as Violet looked up at Sherlock for the first time. He was looking at her curiously, unable to gauge her state of mind.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wish you hadn't come," she said, her face now expressing an emotion at last: sorrow, regret.

"I was worried-"

"Still...I know how it must look to you...but..." She looked down. She didn't want to cry. She never cried here. She would only let herself breakdown when she'd left. She always had to be strong here. If you didn't, they could take advantage of your vulnerabilities.

But having Sherlock here was odd. He was out of place. He was a connection to the outside world. He had let it in, and now she was confused.

"Just give me a few more minutes," she said quickly.

"Violet, no. We have to go," he said. What more could she want here?

"Just a minute."

She slipped past him again, and swiftly moved about the flat. Mick had left with Carlo. Danny had pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and was carrying the statue out of the bedroom.

"Just washing it," he remarked, smirking.

"Whenever you guys are ready," the guy Sherlock assumed to be Steve directed at him.

"Violet?" Sherlock called again, eyeing Violet as she furiously opened drawer after drawer in the kitchen.

"In a minute!" she called back.

Then she stopped, as if thinking about something. She purposefully strode into the living area to a tall buffet and angrily yanked a drawer open, until the whole drawer fell out, spilling it's contents onto the floor.

"For fuck's sake, Violet!" yelled Danny, entering the room again from the passageway. "Everything you fucking touch I have to put back. Just get the fuck out!"

"Got it," muttered Violet. She had turned the drawer over and pulled off a couple of packets which were sticky-taped to the underside of the drawer.

"Violet!" Sherlock said in alarm as he took in the contents of the packets.

"Back in a minute!" she yelled, sprinting out of the room, before Sherlock could grab her.

He took off after her. She'd already had a good head start, and was still functioning under a high level of adrenalin.

"Violet?" Sherlock called up at her uselessly.

She wasn't going to stop, he thought. Third floor she had told him. They lived on the third floor.

When he arrived at the top, one door was still ajar, the one Violet had obviously disappeared through. Sherlock tentatively entered the flat. This was where Violet had lived. The room was sparsely furnished. One couch, a mismatched armchair, one flimsy coffee table holding a well-used candle stuck in a bottle. A TV. And off to one side, the kitchen where Violet was now fervently pulling open each of these drawers.

The place was littered with bits of tin foil and food wrappers.

Two figures sat hunched motionless on a couch with their backs to the door. The TV was on, but had no sound.

"Syringe? Anyone seen a syringe?" she was asking as casually as if searching for a lost vegetable peeler.

"Violet. What are you doing?" Sherlock asked carefully.

"Found one!" she announced proudly, holding out the packaged instrument.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, more forcefully.

"Riley?" Violet called softly as she approached the couch. "I've got gear. It's good."

"Violet, you don't have to..." Sherlock warned. He'd made the connection.

"I do. He might miss. He almost hit an artery last time," she whispered, finally acknowledging Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. _Un-fucking-believable._

The woman on the couch was asleep, hugging her body. Her head resting on the arm of the couch. The young man sat huddled and shivering at his end of the couch.

Violet sat down on the coffee table opposite Riley. "Where's the kit?" she asked softly.

"Under," he breathed.

"You're idiots," Violet muttered, dropping to the floor and sweeping her hand underneath the couch. She retrieved a small plastic basket, which contained some alcohol swabs, a bag of cotton balls, sachets of citric acid, a teaspoon and a tourniquet.

"Violet," Sherlock said exasperatedly.

"Stop 'Violet'ing me. Why don't you make yourself useful and get me a cup of water?"

"You can't do this!" he protested. "They're..."

"My friends," Violet retorted. "I have to help. This," she held up one packet, showing Sherlock the stamp of a smiling monkey on the outside, "is Happy Moments. It's stronger. He'll take too much."

Sherlock surveyed the scene in front of him. He tutted then stalked off to the kitchen for a cup of water.

"Looks organised," Sherlock muttered once he returned from the kitchen, taking in the contents of the basket.

"My idea," Violet replied.

"That's why you organise my stationery so well," he deadpanned.

"Anything to make it easier," she replied taking the cup from Sherlock. "Thanks."

Sherlock thought, _Easier? Which one: my filing or her friends shooting up?_

He watched as Violet cleaned her hands with an alcohol swab.

"Can I - do - anything - else?" he asked reluctantly.

"Clean the teaspoon?" she asked. "Oh, and find a lighter."

"My room," whispered Riley.

Violet looked up at Sherlock and raised her eyebrows. He took the hint and walked off in search of the lighter. _I wonder which room Violet used to sleep in?_ he thought as he scanned both rooms. Both were similar in their sparseness. Single beds, one pillow each - one with a pillow case, the other without. A couple of books in one, a guitar in the other. Some framed photographs. Clothes strewn about on both floors. Bits of paper, a backpack, a teddy bear. Sherlock found the lighter on the floor of the room with the bear.

When he returned he found that Violet had already cleaned the spoon and had added some of the brown heroin powder to it. She sprinkled on some citric acid as Riley sighed. "Add the whole fucking packet."

"Shut up. You're not supposed to. You'll be shooting up acid, you dumb fuck! Plus you're wasting it all on one hit."

She used the syringe to suck up some water to add to the mix as Riley shakily stood up. To Sherlock's surprise he pulled his jeans down, and tried to shrug them from his feet.

"For Christ's sake," Sherlock muttered.

"You'll bump the table. Fucking hell, Riley!" Violet cried, then she asked politely, "Can you light the candle please Sherlock?"

Sherlock walked around to the other side of the living room, bent over and lit the candle stub.

"Thanks," Violet whispered, as she held the spoon over the flame, moving it in a small circular motion.

Sherlock rubbed a hand through his hair, and paced back over to the kitchen. He couldn't believe they were here doing this. He couldn't believe Violet was here doing this. Violet. After she'd bashed up a drug dealing, rapist...neighbour.

He looked over at her. She was holding a now loaded syringe and whispering something to Riley who was seated again, but with one leg on the coffee table. Sherlock turned away as Violet ran her index finger along Riley's calf muscle. He didn't want to watch. Didn't want to store an image of Violet injecting heroin into an addict's vein. Didn't want to witness the look of love and affection in her eyes as she herself took in the image of her friend throwing his head back in pure ecstasy, while she held the syringe in her hand.

Sherlock pulled out a dining room chair and collapsed onto it. The process didn't leave him squeamish at all. He'd cut open corpses, dissected organs, including eyeballs. Bodily parts, medical processes, and general lowlife scum didn't bother him. It was the reality of Violet's life that hit him. He easily deduced she was an intravenous drug user, but he'd never thought what that actually meant for her back then - on a day by day basis.

He held his head in his hands.

Violet nowadays - painting her toe nails in a spa bath in a rented apartment while holidaying in L.A; walking the red carpet in a ball gown, being snapped by the world's paparazzi; being horrified because her boyfriend was dissecting an ear on the kitchen table.

Violet then - sitting like Riley was, somedays, sweating, stomach cramps, throwing up, trembling hands trying to tip the heroin into the teaspoon, mix, heat, draw into syringe, inject. Lay back, bliss. Start again. Buy heroin. From where? What money?

He looked over at her. She was cleaning up, pausing for a moment to give Riley a kiss on his forehead.

_What did she do to get money for heroin?_

"Em, we're leaving, sweetie. I'll be back tomorrow okay?" Violet said, crouching in front of her drowsy friend.

Sherlock stood up. "Tomorrow?"

Violet straightened up and addressed Sherlock. "I just want to make sure she doesn't go near Carlo again. She doesn't need to..." Violet looked down at Emily, then back at Sherlock. "She doesn't have to. I just want to make sure they don't have an arrangement. I can't talk to her when she's like this."

Sherlock sighed, feeling ill. "Violet..."

He wanted to erase this. Delete it all from his mind.

"Let's go," she said gently. "I just need Steve to stop by the station so I can pick up my things." And then as if she had read his mind, she added, "I wish you hadn't seen any of this. I really do."

Sherlock's plea yesterday, where he'd wish Violet lived in the real world - his world - seemed fairly ridiculous to him now.

This was her real world.

And he wasn't in it.

* * *

This was a nice restaurant. It was lovely, really - full of antique furniture, ornate statues, a high ceiling with enormous hanging lights. It had won two AA Rosettes, and offered classic British dishes with a unique twist. It was very popular, and they were extremely lucky to have been able to book a table on a Friday night.

So why was it that there sat the most miserable couple in Manchester?

"How do you even say 'Foie gras' anyway?" Sherlock muttered. "What's quinoa?"

"It's a Spanish word. It's a grain and cooked like cous cous or rice."

Sherlock sighed.

"Are you ready to order?" a waitress asked, looking between Violet and Sherlock.

"Almost," Violet replied, smiling.

"Nope," stated Sherlock, still scanning the menu.

"What's included with the mini Indian selection?" Violet asked politely.

"Tonight we have lamb korma with garlic naan, and butter chicken served on basmati rice."

"Like it says on the menu," Sherlock commented.

"It doesn't say what the meat dishes are," Violet retorted.

Violet smiled back up at the waitress. "Perhaps we'll need a few more minutes to decide?"

"Of course," the waitress hesitated then said, "Can I just say, and please stop me if it's not appropriate..."

Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes.

"...I'm a really big fan of Catherine Hilderness. I mean, the novel. I'm so excited they've made it into a mini-series...and you are just perfect for a young Catherine. Just perfect! I can't wait to see it!"

"Thank you, that's really lovely of you to say. I hope we don't disappoint you."

"Oh, never. I'm an actress myself, well, almost."

"Really," said Sherlock sarcastically, still staring at the menu.

"Well, I'll let you get back to choosing," the waitress gushed. "I'll be back in five."

Violet sat back and looked over at Sherlock. She'd felt like bursting into tears about half a dozen times since they'd got back to the hotel. Sherlock barely looked at her, and when he did, it was like he was studying her. He only spoke to talk about trivial things, like which floor buttons were worn down more from use in the elevator, and how you can tell a good taxi driver by how close they pull up at the kerb, and how to pronounce various items on the menu.

It was breaking her heart. She wanted to talk about what happened at Ukara Street. They needed to talk about it. She wished to God that Sherlock hadn't shown up like that. Why did he go there?

She looked back down at the menu, forcing the tears to go away. _Concentrate, Violet. Beef Wellington or Indian?_

Sherlock looked up from the menu. How can she talk about restaurant cuisine and her upcoming mini-series so eloquently with a waitress in a posh restaurant after she'd bashed in a fucking druggie rapist neighbour's head? After she'd loaded up a syringe with heroin and jabbed it into an addict's calf?

He looked down again. _What is Saag Aloo?_

Violet held one hand up to her face as if to shield her eyes. She pressed on her temples with her thumb on one side and the tip of her middle finger on the other, willing herself to not cry.

"Are we ready?" The waitress had returned.

"No, sorry," Violet gasped, wiping away a tear. "Um, I'm just...excuse me." She stood up suddenly, and swiftly walked toward the bathrooms.

Sherlock looked up in bewilderment. He put down his menu and said, "You know, there are too many items on your menu."

"I'll, ah, just come back then shall I?"

"That would be best."

Once alone at the table Sherlock took in Violet's vacant seat.

_She's upset with me. I can't fuckin' talk to her about this afternoon. I can't...I don't know what to say. I don't know what I saw. _Who_ I saw. She hit him with a statue. She must have punched him as well, going by the bruising on her right hand. And then she'd crouched down low to threaten him close-up. Not just one random act of violence on the spur of the moment. She'd paused to help her friend back upstairs. Judging by how out of it Emily was, there was no way she climbed those stairs herself. So Violet returned, then threatened him. And then she scoured his flat for the heroin. She knew precisely where it was. How often had she been in his flat before?_

_How many acts of violence had she committed before? How many times did she break the law in order to feed her addiction? A very high percentage of high dependency addicts end up turning to crime and prostitution to fund their drug purchases. He'd read the statistics._

_She doesn't do casual sex._

_What about paid sex?_

He couldn't sit here with all this going through his mind. They couldn't sit here and have dinner. He had to...get some air.

_Walk_.

Sherlock stood up, and re-buttoned his jacket. With a heavy heart, he walked up to the waitress who had attempted to serve them, twice, and said, "Just tell her that I've left, will you?" Then he turned, and exited the restaurant.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

Violet sat on their hotel bed, legs up, hugging her knees. She checked her phone once, twice, every five minutes. Rang Sherlock, nothing. Straight to message.

She felt numb. She couldn't cry.

Yet.

She felt lost. Then panicky.

He was gone.

_Was this liked Poland all over again?_

Except this time she knew what happened. She knew what he saw; what he probably thought.

Her phone buzzed.

Her stomach flipped.

_Sherlock?_

DANNY: [ Ready? I'll be downstairs in 5 ]

_God, no. I can't see Jake now._

She waited a minute. Then another.

_Dammit, Sherlock._

Then she sent him a message.

VIOLET: [ Going to see Jake. Text me if you have any questions you want me to ask him. x ]

VIOLET: [ I love you. ]

Then she sent a quick reply to Danny, brushed her hair, grabbed her bag and put on her shoes.

Danny tried to make light conversation in the car, mostly out of interest for her acting work, but Violet wasn't feeling very chatty. Thankfully he didn't mention anything about Ukara Street. Violet would burst into tears if he did.

As they stopped in the hospital car park, Danny put his hand on Violet's arm.

"Just prepare yourself, okay? He looks a lot worse than he feels. He's in pretty good spirits, considering."

Violet swallowed and followed Danny inside. He was able to navigate the hospital corridors fairly well. Violet suspected certain people in key areas had been well compensated for giving him free access.

Once on the ward, Violet felt apprehensive. She hadn't quite mentally prepared herself for how she'd find Jake. As they approached his room, Violet noticed a uniformed police officer sitting on a chair by the door, looking bored reading a newspaper. Across the hall sat another man. This guy was engrossed in a game on a tablet. Violet recognized him as one of Jake's security guys. They both looked up as Danny and Violet approached, the security guy looking down again, but the police officer doing a weird double-take.

Danny pushed open the door, letting Violet enter the room.

"I'll leave you two alone. I'll just be down the hall when you're done," he whispered, smiling reassuringly.

"Thanks, Danny."

Violet entered the dimly lit room which was eerily quiet except for the beep of a couple of monitors. There was a curtain pulled across the bed, so Violet couldn't immediately see Jake until she walked in and around to the end of the bed. Her heart fell as she took in his appearance.

"Hey," he managed to say, without moving his head. "Wasn't sure if you'd grace me with your presence."

Jake's eyes followed Violet as she walked to one side of the bed. Jake was in some kind of head brace, neck brace, everything brace. Most of his face was bruised and puffy, a few cuts and scratches here and there.

"You only qualified because I was told you were on your deathbed. I wanted to make sure of it."

"Violet Hunter. I believe you're fucking flirting with me now. Whatever you do, don't make me laugh."

"Why would I make you laugh?"

"You always make me laugh. Dan told me you gave a special blessing to our favourite landlord this afternoon."

"I was only doing what you failed to do. Why aren't you paying the rent?"

"I'm fine, by the way. It only hurts when I sneeze."

"Stop being such a baby."

"Move over to my right side. I can't do much with my left. Broken arm, cracked ribs, this bone under my neck."

"Clavicle."

"Smart arse. And I am paying the rent."

Violet moved around to the right side of the bed. Jake patted the bed faintly with the fingers of his right hand, the arm of which was in a brace. "Sit."

Violet very delicately sat on the bed, next to Jake's hand. She gently held his fingers as he continued, "You know that if I'm paying the rent then Emily was paying for a hit, right?"

When Violet didn't reply, Jake added, "Was she high?"

Violet nodded faintly.

"So there was probably no need for you to give Carlo that headache, right?"

Now she was going to blubber. No need to beat up Carlo. No reason to steal his stash and pump it through the veins of her friend. No need for Sherlock to have witnessed any of that. No reason why he should abandon her at a restaurant and have made no contact with her.

"Hey, don't cry. I can't even lift my hand to ... And anyway, you're meant to be making me feel better. Some nurse you are."

Violet rose from the bed, alternately laughing and crying and trying to wipe her tears and snot away with her hand, until she spied a tissue box on a trolley in the corner of the room.

"I'm not a nurse. You've got me mistaken for someone who fucks you."

"Speaking of nurses and fucking - get Dan to find out the contact details of a nurse called Danielle, rostered on between 4am and about lunchtime. I know who I'll be fucking when I get out of here."

"Fuck off, Jake."

"Sit back down. I need to tell you something."

Violet finished cleaning herself up, then sat back on the bed again.

"I'm not meant to be alive, right? They're probably gonna send someone round to finish the job."

"Jake-"

"No, listen. I'm a dead man anyway. I'm going to tell you some things to pass onto Sherlock..."

* * *

Violet stared at the hotel room door, her access card poised to swipe through the security lock. She fingered the card, hoping, praying, that Sherlock was inside. She didn't know what she'd do if she found the room empty once more.

With a heavy heart, she swiped the card, waited for the beep and green light, then pushed on the handle.

As she stepped in, her heart leapt at the sight of him. Sherlock was standing by the window, shrugging off his shirt. He looked up as she entered.

"I just turned my phone back on," he said unemotionally. "I got your message."

He set about turning his shirt sleeves the right way as Violet replied hesitantly, "I've just finished at the hospital."

She remained where she had entered, in the narrow entranceway formed by the bathroom door on the left and the sliding wardrobe doors on the right.

"Everything all right?" Sherlock asked evenly, making his way toward Violet with his shirt.

Violet moved aside as she realized he wanted access to the wardrobe in order to hang up his shirt.

Violet didn't answer as she watched Sherlock reaching in for a hanger, arranging his shirt on it then hanging it up on the rail. Then he unhooked the waistband of his trousers as Violet said gently, "Sherlock."

He turned around, fingers still on his fly.

She looked up at him, willing him to say something, anything about Ukara Street.

"I made a mistake," she whispered.

He paused, tilting his head ever so slightly, waiting.

"Emily probably wanted to fuck Carlo for a hit."

Sherlock turned back around, unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, picking up his trousers and shaking the creases out.

Violet leant against the bathroom door and crossed her arms, feeling sicker by the minute at Sherlock's unemotional responses. He was going to yell any minute now, she thought.

"Jake was still paying the rent for them. She was high, too. So..."

"Is that considered a typical day in the life of an addict then?" He grabbed a trouser hanger and preceded to clip his trousers by the waistband.

"You should..." Violet began, indicating the hanger. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, unclipped the waistband, then reclamped his trousers via the legs.

"Was that a typical day for you?" Sherlock rephrased his question, hanging up his trousers.

"No," Violet replied softly, still steeling herself for the explosion.

"Can I...? Sherlock indicated the bathroom door Violet was leaning on.

She moved aside, then walked over to the counter which held the television and the usual hotel information brochures. She dumped her bag down on it along with the hotel key card. Sherlock re-emerged from the bathroom in one of the hotel bathrobes.

"It's cold in here," he remarked, fiddling with the thermostat. "Aren't you cold?"

"No. I dunno," she replied. Yes, she felt cold, and numb, but not because of the room's temperature.

She sat down on a chair, pulling off her boots. She clenched and unclenched her right hand which was aching. She looked at it, noticing the bruising for the first time.

"It's not too late to ice it," Sherlock commented, looking down at her. "I'll get some from the ice machine down the end of the corridor."

He moved past Violet and grabbed the ice bucket which was on the counter.

"Back in a sec," he said softly.

Violet was confused. Is he angry? Isn't he going to yell at her soon? She moved over to the bed, propped up the pillows and sat down. She grabbed her phone and noticed a new text message.

MANDI: [ Sherlock is out of control. You have to rain in that man! ]

_Rein, not rain, Mandi, _thought Violet. _What was she looking at online now?_

Sherlock re-entered the room as Violet fired off a "What now?" message to Mandi and put her phone down on the bedside table. He smiled at her slightly then disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water and then Sherlock came back out holding a face cloth with ice wrapped in it, and a clean towel.

"Here," he said, climbing on to the bed. He arranged the towel on the bed, held out his hand for Violet's, directed it onto the towel, then lightly pressed the icy cold, wet, face cloth to the back of her hand.

"Probably should've done this straight away," he remarked soothingly.

"I was a bit busy sticking a heroin-filled syringe into my friend's leg," Violet found herself saying. Then she was actually surprised to see a grin spreading across Sherlock's face.

"You fucking amaze me," he said, he face softening. And he leant over and kissed her softly on the lips. Violet brought her left hand up to Sherlock's face. She held him there, pulling him in deeper. He returned her hungry kisses, his tongue responding to hers, tasting each other, until Violet lifted up her right hand and tangled it into Sherlock's curls. He pulled away, tutting.

"You have to keep it iced."

"It hasn't been iced for hours."

"All the more reason to keep it on now, then."

He replaced the face cloth on top of Violet's hand and looked up at her.

"You've been smoking," Violet said, raising an eyebrow.

"I ran out of patches."

"Why didn't you buy more patches? You're meant to have quit, remember?"

"Says the heroin dealer," Sherlock said, with a smirk.

Violet stared at him, horrified.

"Don't look at me like that. If I can't joke about it, I'll go fucking mad, Violet."

Violet tried to smile, then reached across to caress his face with her left hand. Sherlock took her hand in his, then kissed it.

"Where did you go?" she asked.

"Walking. A very long walk. Manchester's actually interesting by night. I needed to think. Four hours of walking and a dozen cigarettes helped me do that."

"A dozen?"

"Chain-smoking for a bit."

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

Sherlock looked up at her. "You and I are both not normal."

"Speak for yourself!"

He grinned. "You really didn't think twice about stealing their landlord's stash or injecting your friend with...what did you call it? Smiling Monkey? And I don't think twice about bringing home a bag of eyeballs from the morgue and storing them next to the frozen peas."

"You stored human eyeballs next to the frozen peas?" Violet asked, incredulously. "And it was 'Happy Moments.'"

Sherlock ignored Violet's look of outrage and continued a tad more seriously. "You once said you were afraid I may change what I think of you the more I find out about you, and I said I never would."

"And now?"

"In hindsight, that was a quite a naive statement. You're a fucking lunatic, Violet!"

He reached over and pulled her down into a kiss.

"And I love you," he whispered. "More than ever."

* * *

"I have questions," Sherlock murmured, as they lay in their postcoital embrace, entwining fingers.

"Mmm?"

"Where did you get the money from, to feed your addiction?"

Violet thought for a moment, feeling sad for her friends. She escaped their fate, getting clean before they were fucked over.

"Riley's parents were rich. _Are_ rich. They gave him an allowance. We were able to live a life of luxury for a while."

"They funded your ... drug habit?"

"The three of us, yes."

"And now?"

"His parents found out a couple of years ago. Em and Riley have been struggling ever since."

"What do they do for money?"

"I think you know."

"Prostitution?"

Violet nodded, keeping her focus on Sherlock's hands.

"Did you think I did?" she asked eventually.

"The thought occurred to me," he confessed.

"And?"

"I dismissed it after some examination."

"What specifically?"

"Your past behavior; conversations we've had; the results of the blood tests..."

Violet sighed. For Emily and Riley, she had wanted to pretend that aspect wasn't happening. She thought she had it sorted by asking Jake to at least pay their rent.

_Jake!_

"Sherlock! I have to tell you what Jake told me!"

"About his assailants?"

"Everything."

"Yes?"

Violet rolled over onto her stomach and looked up at Sherlock.

"They weren't gangland hits - well, not in the normal sense."

"Go on."

"Ronald Adair and John Douglas were each Sebastian Moran's lovers at separate times!"

"Lovers?"

"Yes!"

"Gay lovers?"

"Yep! And when they wanted to break up with him..."

"He took it badly?"

"Yes!"

"That seems too extreme, even for him."

"But you didn't see how mad he got when I accused him of being gay. He-"

"You accused him of being gay?"

"Yes," Violet replied sheepishly.

"You accused a major organized crime figure in Manchester of being gay?"

"Mmm."

"In a club full of his people."

"Ah... yes."

"That's why John said you had a death wish," Sherlock murmured.

"Perhaps. I don't know how much John heard. But Moran's obviously very sensitive about being outed."

"Ronald Adair left behind him a wife and three children. John Douglas - a fiancée."

"Can't help bad marriage choices, huh?"

Sherlock lay back thinking, then said, more to himself than Violet, "But there was nothing in the N.O.C.A's surveillance records to point to the fact that Moran's gay. Nothing."

"Jake said that was the main reason Moran frequented Kabuki's more than his own clubs. There's a side alley entrance to Kabuki's that has no surveillance cameras, but it's well guarded by Jake's guys, so no N.O.C.A vehicles can park along there. Perfect for the comings and goings of gay lovers."

"What about London? Adair lived there."

"Kabuki's in London has the same layout. Remember we left through that back entrance?"

"So...how do we connect Moran to the murders?"

"They weren't his usual guys. His boys are next to useless. Jake admitted there is someone higher up than Moran, but he's never met him, or heard his name. Moran just hinted as much. The guys who jumped Jake were Eastern European, he said, although they were dressed like English thugs, probably to make it look like Jake was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jake didn't give that information to the police though."

"And the reason Jake was attacked? Was it because of you?"

"He seemed to think I was the last straw. Moran's had it in for Jake for a while. Moran's meant to be higher up the chain than Jake, but Jake seems to command more respect from those around him."

"So having Jake around was a threat."

"Sherlock, Jake is still a target."

"And now he's a sitting duck?"

Violet silently nodded.

"Well, Jake needs to give us more. Some evidence of any other crime that can be pinned on Moran."

Violet moved up and lay down on Sherlock's chest. She had kissed Jake goodbye -just briefly, on the lips - it seemed the only place on his face not bruised or swollen.

She wondered if that would be a final goodbye kiss?

* * *

Sherlock leant against a pillar at Manchester Picadilly station and watched the girl sporting the baseball cap, loose shirt, khaki's, trainers that were one size too big for her, one shoelace undone. Hands thrust in her pockets, she was looking down. A couple approached her from the opposite direction, and Sherlock waited for the moment the girl would bump shoulders with the woman then take off with her purse. She just had that look about her. Grinning, he regarded Violet and her get-up and wondered if she really could pick a pocket, or was she a snatch and run type?

She ignored him and continued over to the station lockers. She thrust a hand into her waistband, retrieved a key, then unlocked a locker. She grabbed her bag then disappeared in the direction of the facilities.

While Sherlock watched a couple of real pick-pockets at work on the other side of the station, Violet appeared, sliding her arms around him inside his jacket and hugging him.

"Hey," he said looking down and wrapping his arms around her. "Everything all right?" He brushed her hair away from her face as she gazed up at him.

Violet shook her head imperceptibly. "Not this time. It's not always pleasant. She was really angry with me. Let's just go, hey?"

That just meant she didn't want to talk about her morning visit to see Emily. And if he pushed her, she would just cry. She'd probably had enough of crying over her friends by now.

Violet and Sherlock had only purchased the regular passenger tickets for their return trip between London and Manchester this time - the costs of a first class carriage on every trip had been mounting considerably. And that meant keeping a low profile, hushed conversations, and definitely no snogging. They were saving it all up, ready to tear each other's clothes away the minute they stepped into their flat.

Could've been an awkward moment had Sherlock not sniffed out his brother's cologne as they reached the top landing upon their return to Baker Street.

"Welcome home," Mycroft said icily, sitting somewhat stiffly in John's old armchair as Sherlock strode in followed by Violet. "And how was Manchester, or more specifically Jake Venucci?"

Mycroft looked from Sherlock to Violet when he spoke.

"Spying on us again, Mycroft."

Mycroft stood, his face tense. "Just tell me Sherlock, what in God's name you were doing at Jake Venucci's bedside?"

"Interrogating him," Sherlock stated.

"Sherlock, I have to advise you that your services are no longer required on this case."

"What?"

"We have all the information we require."

"Do you?"

"Yes, Sherlock. We do."

"For a conviction?"

"For our purposes. That's all you need to know for now."

"What does that mean?"

"Case closed, Sherlock. And I do have another case for you. I have to insist you call by the office sometime. It's too, ah, sensitive to discuss here." He looked over at Violet. "Ms Hunter." And he about turned and headed out of the door, rapidly descending the stairs.

"What does that all mean?" Violet asked Sherlock.

"Something's up. This is more than just the Adair and Douglas murders."

* * *

"Oh..." Violet was close to tears, yet again. Happy tears, though. "Sherlock!"

"Sentiment, a trinket. People like those things."

She threw her arms around him.

"Plus you didn't get to go to Disneyland, so having Mickey Mouse around your neck should hopefully make up for that!"

Violet showered him with kisses. If Sherlock had known that giving Violet something as ordinary as jewellery containing crystallised carbon would result in such a reaction, he would have done so long ago. He'd bought the Mickey Mouse diamond pendant containing solid white gold when they were still in L.A. When Violet was still shopping, and angry with Sherlock, he had slipped out of the hotel and into the jeweller's across the road. He hadn't given it to her because he'd wanted to buy a chain for it back in London. He had stored it in one of his jacket pockets and preceded to forget all about it until their fight in Manchester. While Violet was visiting Emily for the second time, he had purchased the chain from a jewellery store near Piccadilly station.

They had retired to Sherlock's bedroom after Mycroft had left, both mentally exhausted. They'd both changed into pyjamas and just slept for a couple of hours wrapped in each other's arms, until Sherlock woke up and remembered the pendant.

Violet stood in Sherlock's ensuite admiring her new necklace in the mirror as Sherlock hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. Violet turned around and embraced him back. After kissing him, she then said, "I have something for you!"

"Does it involve the bed?" he asked, pulling her in tightly.

"No, not really, sorry! But you can wait for me there. Back in a sec!"

She disappeared out of Sherlock's room, and returned moments later with her hand curled around some kind of tube.

"I probably shouldn't have rolled it up. It's meant to be a collector's item. I bought it on my way back from Emily's."

She held it out to Sherlock, who slipped the elastic band from it and unravelled it.

"A comic book," he stated.

"Yes!" she answered, beaming. "Read the title!"

Sherlock brow furrowed as he read, "Anuket's Children: Rise of the Five."

"There," Violet pointed, lying down next to Sherlock, with her head resting on his pillow next to his. "The first appearance of Satis."

Sherlock peered closely at the cover illustration. He asked, slowly, "How are they going to get your breasts that big?"

"Sherlock!"

"Look at them compared to her waist!" he said, incredulously.

"It's just an illustration!"

He opened the comic, and preceded to slowly turn the pages as his eyes quickly scanned each page.

"Ah, they start as normal people here. Oh, look at her breasts there!"

"Stop staring at her breasts!"

"I think the point is you're supposed to. They feature very prominently."

He kept scanning, grinning and chuckling. Violet fiddled with her pendant as she lay there catching glimpses of the comic's storyline as Sherlock turned the pages.

"I get it," he said. "They're all normal people that become superheroes based on Egyptian deities whenever they gather around this amulet."

"Mmm."

"So...if I was a criminal mastermind, I would just steal the amulet and destroy it."

"Yes. That was the plot of the first movie," Violet explained.

"Oh, dull."

"The first movie was just about introducing the first four superheroes and their nemesis. Nemeses? Nemesii?"

"Right," said Sherlock, studying one page a little more carefully. "And who's this guy?"

Violet looked at the illustration. The Nile goddess had locked lips with Apis, the bull-deity.

"Oh my God!" she remarked. _A bit of snogging with the movie's sexiest hunk!_

"Is he in the first movie?" Sherlock asked, sounding unimpressed.

"Mmm, perhaps," Violet replied, sounding suitably vague.

"Right," said Sherlock, throwing down the comic and rising from the bed.

"What?" Violet asked.

"Research," Sherlock replied, striding out of the bedroom.

Violet cringed. Sherlock currently had no cases to work on.

* * *

When Violet returned from the grocery store, she found Sherlock where she had left him: in his armchair with his computer on his lap. But now he was wearing headphones. He probably didn't even hear her muttering about having no food in the fridge, nor her goodbye as she left for the store.

Violet started reading the microwave instructions for the frozen chicken risotto as Sherlock exclaimed, "Good! He's dead," and he pulled out his earbuds, shutting his computer lid.

"Who's dead?" Violet asked, opening the risotto packaging.

Sherlock stood up and walked into the kitchen. "Apis. Killed by an arrow meant for Khepri."

"What?"

"I rented that movie. What's that?"

"Dinner," Violet replied, popping the frozen food into the microwave oven. "What movie?"

"The movie about your lot," he replied, picking up the risotto box and examining the instructions.

"Apis isn't dead."

"Yes, he is. I just saw him die."

"And then you stopped the movie?"

"Yes."

"About ten minutes before the end?"

"No point watching the rest. I found out what I needed to know."

"Well, I'm sorry for the spoiler, Sherlock, but he's not dead."

"He must be. It was one of those -_magical_- arrows."

Violet grinned. "Go watch the last ten minutes, you silly man!"

Sherlock sighed, and returned to the living room as Violet started putting the groceries away. She stacked up the four boxes of frozen meals she had purchased and opened the freezer.

"Oh, gross! Are these the frozen eyeballs you were talking about?"

"No, that's a collection of fingers. Can't you tell from their shape?" he replied, sticking his headphones into his ears again.

"I'd rather not look too closely," Violet muttered, shoving the frozen dinners into the freezer.

Violet took out the dinner plates and cutlery, cleared the living room table (as the dining table was too cluttered once again) and set it for dinner.

Sherlock tutted. "Enchanted sarcophagus." He pulled his headphones out and started typing as the microwave beeped.

"Finished?" Violet asked as she swept past him into the kitchen.

"What a load of rubbish. And clearly that black-coat wearing guy is going to be back in the sequel. Hmm," he said thoughtfully.

"What?" Violet asked, spooning the risotto out onto the plates.

"Joseph - Irkhardt," he said, tapping away at the keyboard.

"You're googling the actor who plays Apis now?"

Sherlock quickly scanned his screen. "Twenty-three, single, born in Arizona, has a pet pig. Nice. Ranked 12th on Snapx Sexiest Man Alive Reader Poll, 7th on the Hunkiest Abs internet poll, and most wanted desert island partner as stated in a Texan gay magazine."

"Come on, dinner's ready."

"Twenty-three is too young for you," Sherlock remarked, putting his computer down on the floor and rising out of his armchair.

"Mitchell's only 22, and we snogged, remember?"

"What! Who?"

"Regency Road? Shaun?"

"Oh. ...Violet, what have you vomited up here?"

"Sherlock!"

He sniffed his plate. "This can't be good."

"Eat it! And don't be rude! Learn some freakin' manners for a change."

"Why don't you learn how to read a recipe for once. Fresh ingredients. This is...congealed mush."

"Ungrateful bastard!"

"Come on. I'm taking you to dinner at Angelo's. I still owe you a meal at a restaurant."

"But you didn't even taste it!"

"I don't need to. It's not food. It's glue."

* * *

Violet laughed, hanging up her phone. "Okay, us girls are staying in and having cocktails - Mary's maid-of-honour's flat in Chelsea. Do you know what you're going to do?"

Sherlock scowled as he buttoned up his jacket. "Well since John shut me down on every idea I had, we're just going to have a few quiet pints at the Oldham."

"What ideas?"

"I told him I'd done my research."

"You researched stag nights?"

"Yes. I said we had to get him completely inebriated, humiliate him in a manner which suited his profession - Stamford suggested dolling him up in a nurse's uniform - and leaving him in a public place until morning. Pretty straightforward really."

Violet laughed. "And he shut you down."

"Completely."

"I think in the true spirit of stag nights you're not really supposed to seek the groom's permission," Violet said conspiratorially.

Sherlock paused for a minute. "Really?" he answered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

* * *

"John's getting married," Sherlock slurred as Violet helped him remove his jacket.

"Yes, I know. That's lovely isn't it?" she replied softly, plopping him down on the bed. "One shoe..."

"He's...he's going to be married."

"Mmm. Other foot now."

Violet removed Sherlock's socks as he flopped down onto his back.

"He lives with her."

"Yes, Sherlock. For over a year now." Violet started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why's he getting married then?"

"You'll have to sit up again... come on...up! There. I don't know. Some people like the commitment."

"I'm committed." Sherlock drunkenly put his arm around Violet's shoulders. "I'm committed," he repeated, trying to look meaningfully into her eyes.

"I know. Other arm now..."

"Why's he marrying her?"

"He loves her," Violet stated, pulling Sherlock's shirt from his other arm. "Lie down again. We'll take your trousers off."

"But I love you."

"I know you do, sweetie. Lift. Come on Sherlock, help me!"

Sherlock lifted his hips slightly so Violet could pull his trousers off.

"I love you," he murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed.

"I know. I love you, too," Violet whispered, moving Sherlock's legs onto the bed.

Sherlock muttered something while rolling to his side. Violet only caught the words "...marry me..."

"What did you say? Sherlock? Sherlock!"


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

The great thing about John and Mary insisting their respective stag and hen nights be on a Thursday night, was having a complete day and a bit to recover before their wedding on Saturday. Sherlock thought so too, as he listened to the staccato in his head.

Unfortunately, he didn't have Violet to snuggle up to. Sensibly, she had little to drink at Mary's do, but that was more to do with the fact that she had a one day pass with friends to go to the Cheltenham Music Festival all day Friday, and Friday night. She'd be back on the earliest train Saturday.

Of course she had invited Sherlock.

Naturally, he'd declined.

As Violet had left in the small hours of Friday morning, Sherlock had stayed in bed for hours before moving his sorry ass to his couch. Violet sent several pictures of herself throughout the day, at different 'gigs' or eating amazing food, or standing next to a celebrity friend, so Sherlock returned the favour by taking photos of his feet in various positions and sending them to her.

Friday evening, while he was making himself a cup of instant soup, he was graced with a visit from John.

"Best man's speech. We have to go through it," John entered, not even bothering with common courtesies in his highly stressed state.

"Ah, John. Lestrade found the handcuff keys then?"

"Not funny, Sherlock."

"Well we had to do something. You got too punchy with Stamford trying to dress you in a nurse's outfit."

"My wrists are bruised."

"You shouldn't have struggled so much. And anyway, you got off fairly lightly. Some of your ex-army buddies wanted to shave your head and get it tattooed."

"Yes, well, thank you for stopping that. "

"Oh, I didn't stop it. The tattoo parlour refused to do it, saying you we're far too intoxicated to be a willing client."

"Sherlock!"

"I thought a pair of doves, just at the base of your neck - goes with the whole wedding theme."

John gritted his teeth, wondering how many cases there were of grooms murdering their best man just before a wedding. "Speech?"

"I've already been through it with Mary and Violet. They said it had to be completely re-written of course. I think I may just wing it."

"What?!"

* * *

"I missed you," Sherlock said groggily, as Violet snuggled up to him on the couch where he'd been lying in his pyjamas.

"You'll have to get used to me going away for longer periods of time."

"Oh. Dull," he remarked, sitting up.

"When _Rise of the Five_ gets started I'll be in Brisbane for ages. Won't you come with me?"

"To Australia? Uh. No."

"Not even for a bit?"

"No."

"You could get some work with the Australian Federal Police. I heard they're the best?"

"No."

With Violet not being part of the wedding party, she theoretically didn't need to be anywhere except the service at 4pm. Unfortunately, she was charged with the responsibility of getting Sherlock and all his gear to John's flat. Mary and her maid-of-honour, Helena, were staying in a nearby hotel.

Violet felt emotional as she flung her arms around Sherlock in the afternoon. He didn't seem phased by the event. No nerves, no pacing, no frantic running his hands through his hair. Nothing. Just another day for him.

"I'm proud of you!" she declared.

"Why?"

"Because you're John's best man!"

"Why does that instil pride in you?"

"Because you obviously mean so much to John, as John means something to you."

"John means something to me?"

"Of course he does. You know he does. Don't try to deny it." Violet removed her arms, and looked about the living room. "Now, where's your speech?"

Sherlock took off for the dining room.

"It's... in my head," he replied, sitting down at the dining room table, and reaching for his microscope.

"Did you memorise it?" Violet asked, walking over to him.

"I've decided to say whatever comes into my head at the time," he said before peering into the microscope.

"Sherlock, no! We've been through this!"

"You and Mary have been through this," he replied not looking up.

"Yes. And you were playing your violin as loudly and violently as you could while we were talking."

Sherlock looked up from the microscope. "So?"

Violet spoke slowly, "This is their special day."

Sherlock spoke equally as slowly, "I - know."

"So you have to say something ... nice."

Sherlock looked off to the side for a moment, thinking, before looking back at Violet. "I can be nice."

"In your first draft you referred to Mary as 'Sarah'."

"That was my little joke," he said grinning.

"All the way through the speech!"

"A big joke?"

"And in your second draft you wrote that John was always trying to get off with somebody."

"That's true."

"You can't say that!"

"Why not? It's called 'being witty'."

"I'm not sure how it will be received by the bride's family."

"It's all a mystery isn't it!" Sherlock said dramatically.

He stood up, buttoned up his jacket and asked, "What time is the wedding again?"

"Four."

He looked at his watch. "So, it's one-thirty now...I'm off to the lab for an hour and a bit!"

"No, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"I have to get you over to John's now. You have to ... " Violet sighed, "... keep him company and keep him calm..." She trailed off, thinking what an impossibility that was. "On second thoughts, we could swing by the lab for an hour."

Violet left Sherlock at the lab while she dropped by John's flat to leave her and Sherlock's wedding attire there. She hugged John and reassured him that Sherlock would show up, that he would behave, and that his speech was appropriate for the occasion. Violet had lied on two counts.

She suggested John see that Sherlock was plied with just enough scotch - perhaps two or three, so that he would be friendly, not standoffish, with a touch of emotion - a perfect combination for a best man giving his speech.

John had just returned from a round of golf with Mike Stamford. Of course Sherlock had declined the invitation to golf. John was slightly relaxed and a little bit relieved that he wouldn't have to spend the next two hours alone with Sherlock in his flat. Sherlock would act like a caged wild animal if he had to stay at John's for no particular reason other than for 'company'.

Violet had an appointment at a beauty salon to get her hair styled and make-up done. Then she went back to the lab to entice Sherlock to leave.

* * *

Violet and John's sister, Harry, helped John and Sherlock to get dressed. John's parents stopped by at one stage. Violet thought they were charming. Sherlock peered at them like he was initially examining corpses. Violet hoped he wouldn't pull out his magnifying glass at any stage.

Sherlock was largely ignored by John's family - they'd taken to quizzing Violet about Regency Road, except when John's mother readjusted the boys' boutonnieres. Sherlock stood quite stiffly then, his eyes narrowed at her.

Violet thought Harry was asking too many questions about her ex-Regency Road co-star Chenoa Burton, and Violet's relationship with her, specifically the part that involved dancing in nightclubs.

After his family had left, John noticed that Sherlock was unusually quiet - nerves probably, he thought, but he didn't know that Violet was constantly hissing in his ear to not say anything every time Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath, signalling the commencement of a thought process he just had to air. _Probably observations about the dynamics of John's family,_ Violet had thought. She wondered if John had ever met Sherlock's parents.

Soon enough, they were ready, and made it to the church in record time. The ceremony was to take place in the manicured gardens outside. Violet took her seat on the groom's side, finally relaxing enough to admire Sherlock in his tux. He hadn't let her touch his hair. He had rubbed his hand in it a bit, and said it was done.

Harry had decided she'd be Violet's unofficial bodyguard, to keep unwanted attention away from her, she'd said. She stuck pretty close to Violet's side, to Violet's slight discomfort.

Sherlock strolled over to Violet, as everyone was milling about waiting for the bride and therefore the ceremony to commence. John was talking to the celebrant. Mrs Hudson was already crying, seeing 'her boys' all dressed up and she was being consoled by Molly.

Sherlock sat down on an empty seat next to Violet, put his arm around her and whispered, "Before you shush me again, I just want to tell you how beautiful you're looking tonight, and I've already scouted the reception venue and found what could potentially be a dark corner near a deep undergrowth outside should you be seeking any kind of physical relief for that wanton lust you keep deep inside you. Okay?"

Violet smiled at him, put her hand to his cheek and kissed him briefly.

"How lucky you get tonight," she whispered, "is directly related to how happy you make your best friend with your wedding speech. Got it?"

Sherlock frowned, then looked around him - his eyes taking in everything in sight.

Violet turned to him again, whispering, "You have nothing else to worry about during the ceremony now that John's confiscated the rings, but do try to behave!"

Sherlock sighed. John _had_ confiscated the rings back at his flat when he noticed Sherlock trying to juggle them and catch them on his pinkies. John was going to give them back only when the ceremony started. Sherlock chuckled to himself.

"You know, there's something else you can do in Australia," Violet began.

"Oh, not that again."

"You can find their missing prime minister!"

"That was in the '60s Violet. The aliens would have taken him back to their home planet by now."

Violet tutted and looked away.

"There's something wrong with this building," Sherlock leant in and whispered to Violet after he'd spent a minute or two watching an uncle and aunt of Mary's and concluded their marriage was over and they were trying to 'keep it together' in front of family at the wedding. "Look at the way the roof is tapered at that end." He pointed to the right-hand side of the building behind where John and the celebrant were standing.

"Not now, Sherlock," Violet whispered back.

"Oh...Bored," Sherlock said tonelessly, tossing something into the air.

"What are you doing?" Violet hissed, as Sherlock closed his wrist around the small object he'd caught.

"Want to see a magic trick?" he asked, his eyes dancing mischievously.

Violet let out an exasperated breath.

"Are you going to do a magic trick?" a little boy asked, wandering over wide-eyed to Sherlock and Violet.

"No," Sherlock answered the boy. He bent forward and whispered to him, "But you haven't cleaned behind your ears. Look!" And he reached out behind the boy's ear and triumphantly show him a gold ring held between his thumb and forefinger.

The boys eyes widened and his mouth gaped as Sherlock leant in conspiratorially to him and said, "Now go and tell Uncle John that he's lost a wedding ring!"

He sat back in his seat as the small child scurried off in the direction of John and the celebrant. Sherlock threw the ring into the air again, caught it with his left hand, kissed Violet, then showed her that it had disappeared, appearing in his right hand.

"Sherlock!" Violet exclaimed. "That's not _the_ wedding ring is it?"

"_One of_ the wedding rings," Sherlock answered calmly. "Now where is that ring box?"

He stood up and patted his pockets.

"How?" Violet asked, horrified, standing up with him.

"Oh I pick-pocketed John earlier when I was bored," he said dismissively.

Violet watched as John stormed over to Sherlock, steam almost emitting from his ears.

"Sherlock!" he hissed.

"Found it!" Sherlock exclaimed, holding up the tiny green, felt-covered box rather proudly.

He opened it, and nestled John's larger ring next to Mary's delicate smaller one. He snapped the box shut as John grabbed it out of his hand.

"It's my wedding day!" he reprimanded Sherlock under his breath and took off back to the celebrant.

"They're here!" a shout went up from a group huddled near the path at the side of the church building. The guests all hurried back to stand in front of their seats, and turned around in expectation of the bride.

"Quick! Be good!" Violet advised Sherlock as she held him by his sleeve. "And there's no need for you to speak - at all!" she warned before letting him go.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he hastened to join John. Violet saw John reluctantly hand Sherlock the ring box, which he put into his trouser pocket.

The string quartet struck up "Here Comes the Bride" as two flower girls holding a flower basket together and the maid-of-honour, Helena, preceded Mary along the path, through the gate and along the aisle formed by the guests' chairs.

_She looks so radiant,_ Violet thought, but she could also detect an hint of sadness. Mary had confided in Violet about the death of her father overseas, when she was just a girl, and of a bizarre pact he had made with a group of men when in service. It was the circumstances surrounding this pact that had brought John and Mary together, when Sherlock had accepted Mary's case.

Violet looked back at John and Sherlock. John was alternately smiling and trying to hold back tears. Sherlock was staring impassively at the procession. Violet wondered what he was thinking about.

Sherlock was thinking, _Oh my God. It's a parade. A parade of four. Why are they walking so slowly. Hurry up for God's sake._

Violet watched as Mary joined John at the alter. Sherlock stared thoughtfully ahead.  
_He looks so focussed, _Violet thought. _He's so handsome in his tuxedo. I wonder what he thinks about all of this? About his best friend getting married._

Sherlock was thinking _What is this ritual? A whole afternoon and an evening wasted of everybody else's time and possibly money in order to state publicly that you love somebody and are committed to them. Isn't this a conversation that should occur privately? Why do we all have to get dressed up in these ridiculous outfits, watch a procession of flowers - Mary and what's-her-face; listen to this guy bang on about marital commitments and respect._

_Know it already._

_Boring!_

_Doesn't John know this stuff? He's an adult, for God's sake. What does he think this man is teaching us? Am I supposed to be listening. Oh, look, there's a bug crawling on his gown. Why's he wearing a gown? Oh! It's a stag beetle. Commonly found on or near dead wood. Hmm. Coincidence? I don't believe in coincidences. Climb higher! No, climb higher! Come on little grub. Oh! You swished him away with your gown. Need to report a sighting. That's what they asked for in the newspaper last week. Poor little stag beetle. All your relatives are in decline around most of Europe._

_God I need a case!_

_What to look at now._

_Dull._

_Mary's crying. I know exactly what you're thinking, Mary. It's really boring isn't it?_

Sherlock gave Mary a reassuring smile when she happened to glance at him, which made her even more emotional at the thought that Sherlock was being so sensitive.

Oh God.

_Where's Violet? Probably crying too. Happy tears._

Sherlock rolled his eyes in his mind.

_Hot. Bit warm today. Three layers. Shirt, waistcoat thingy, jacket. There's a little pocket in my waistcoat. Probably for the pocket watch they used to carry, before the invention of the wrist watch._

_Fob watch._

_Funny name that, Fob._

_Fff-_

_O-_

_Bb._

_Fob._

_Fob._

_I'd like a fob watch. What's the time Sherlock? Oh, glad you asked. I'll just check my fob watch._

Sherlock inserted his fingers into the little slit inside his waistcoat, imagining pulling out a pocket watch. John saw him fiddling and frowned.

_Bloody hell, he's lost the rings, _John thought. _They're in your trouser pocket, you stupid git._

John tried to indicate Sherlock's trouser pocket with his eyes and eyebrows.

Sherlock thought _What? What are you looking at John? My groin? My...oh God, is my fly undone._

Sherlock's hand surreptitiously stole to his fly to check.

_Nope. Fine._

He looked back at John and frowned.

_Still hot. Shirt, tie! waistcoat, jacket with tails. What do we need tails for? And two tails at that. What animal are we emulating? What animal has two tails._

"Sherlock!" John's voice broke Sherlock's train of thought as a teeter went through the wedding guests behind them.

"Mmm?"

"Rings!" John hissed.

"Oh!"

Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket for the ring case. He opened it, then placed both rings on the celebrant's bible as prompted.

_Rings. Ridiculous. Gold bands around the finger to indicate commitment to each other. Why do they like shiny metals so much? Violet and that pendant. Is she wearing it tonight? Is she? Good old Mickey Mouse nestled comfortably against Violet's cleavage.  
Violet's cleavage._

_Ah. Violet's cleavage._

_Bosoms._

_Violet's_

_Bosoms._

_Mmm._

_Violet's_

_bosoms._

_Breasts._

_Violet's breasts._

_Oh God!_

_Don't think about Violet's breasts!_

_Don't think about her breasts!_

_Violet's breasts._

_No!_

_Quick, think about something else._

_Um...rhododendron ponticum._

_Good. Poisonous flower. Causes hypotension and bradycardia in humans if consumed in sufficient quantities._

_Oh look, my rose's wilting. Wonder if anyone will notice. John's mother probably will._

John's mother.

_Sister._

_Harry._

_Interesting woman that one. Flirting with Violet. That's funny. Violet is uncomfortable about that. Why would she be uncomfortable? She was the one dancing with that Granny-slapper Caity from Regency Road. Mmmm. Violet dancing at the club. Violet dancing in my bedroom._

_Violet removing her clothes whilst dancing seductively in my bedroom._

_Dammit!_

_Shoes!_

_Shoes are interesting._

_Make unique prints in mud._

_I once solved a crime involving a man with a limp. How did you know he had a limp Sherlock? Because one of his footprints in the mud sank lower than the other. Wow, Sherlock, that's brilliant. What a brilliant mind you have. Yes, I know._

Sherlock smiled to himself.

_Oh, they're saying their 'vows' now. Really John? Is that what you're going to do? My vow would be 'I promise not to fuck up.' That basically covers everything. Violet's should be 'I promise not to cry unless I'm chopping onions.'_

_Oh, Violet wouldn't chop onions unless they came frozen in a box._

_Her vows should include 'I promise not to serve Sherlock vomit for dinner.'_

_What's Violet thinking now. Crying probably. Again. Happy tears._

Sherlock rolled his eyes in his mind once more.

"I now pronounce you, Mr and Mrs John and Mary Watson!"

_Oh good, they're kissing!_

_Does Violet like weddings? Probably._

_Oh God._

_Violet._

_Wedding._

_Marriage._

_Fuck._

Sherlock hadn't lost the rings, didn't fumble or fiddle, or say anything inappropriate and just generally behaved himself during the ceremony. Violet breathed a sigh of relief as she joined the line to congratulate the bride and groom.

John looked so happy. Violet felt very emotional for them both as she kissed and hugged John and then Mary.

As she stood to one side, Sherlock came up behind her, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her cheek.

_Ah, Mickey Mouse. There you are. Wish I was Mickey Mouse._

Violet felt like crying, as weddings inevitably made people think about love and their own relationships. Did she really think she heard Sherlock say 'Marry me' the other night?

Perhaps the mumbled bit was "I'm never going to ask you to _marry me._"

* * *

Champagne, photos, more photos, and just a few more photos.

John handed Sherlock a scotch, and clapped him on the arm, grinning. "Just a few more photos, Sherlock!"

The bridal party had exhausted every possible combination with the bride and groom, then bride's family, and lastly with the groom's family. The photo session then commenced with the combinations of family members only, which didn't require the maid-of-honour nor the best man.

It was at this point that Sherlock had disappeared.

And so had half a dozen of the guests' children.

"Found them!" Lestrade yelled, as excited squeals emanated from a row of hedges.

Mrs Hudson's lips were drawn in a thin line. "He is just like a child sometimes," she remarked.

Violet smiled. _Yes he is._

Bored with proceedings, Sherlock, followed by a posse of eager children, had found a dead rabbit to poke sticks at.

"Mr Holmes showed us its spleen!" Violet overheard an eight year old girl exclaim excitedly to her mother.

"Let's go wash your hands!" the mother had hissed at her daughter.

"You should go inside and wash your hands too, young man," Mrs Hudson scolded Sherlock.

* * *

"I'm surprised you like children."

"Why wouldn't I like children?"

"Just something John said once," Violet answered, then continued when Sherlock looked at her, puzzled, "Something about two little girls talking about their granddad going to heaven."

"That's nothing to do with not liking children - it's about not lying to them."

"Some things are just not appropriate for children."

"So that includes dead grannies and dead bunnies does it?"

"Dissecting dead bunnies may be not so appropriate."

"What about dissecting dead grannies?" he muttered.

* * *

"Why don't you see if Mycroft has any government connections in Australia? He may be able to find a case for you?"

"Not Australia again. I don't think Mycroft's got any connections 'down under'".

* * *

Sherlock cleared his throat. John looked up at him as Mary leant back into John's arm. Violet grabbed Mrs Hudson's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen... and Harry ... I'm John's best man. That's -best- man, Stamford. And tradition dictates that my role here is to toast the bridesmaid. But as traditions ever evolve, I'm left with the not-as-difficult-as-some-would-make-it-out-to-be task of talking about the -groom- John. I could tell you how we met, although you could've read that on John's blog - that's old news; I also have to say something witty about John's idiosyncrasies, perhaps an anecdote or two about John being an idiot during a case, or about how he's always on the lookout for a date; how competent he is as a doctor, although I wouldn't know about that; his attention to detail, although not as detailed as me, in fact he's nearly always wrong...

"But I won't say any of that. In fact my job here as best man is to make sure John is happy. And if I don't, my girlfriend won't have sex with me.

"So, looking over here now, at John, I can safely say, he's happy. Sitting there, with his -wife-, not Sarah! - Mary -. And I've never seen him look happier. In fact, ever since he moved out of our flat, he's been pretty happy. And that's saying something. No, not about me. About Mary.

"The only downside to John's personality which irritated me the entire time we lived together is his strong morals principles. I'm trying to work on a case, and he's crying about the people blown up in a block of flats. But I guess if it wasn't for his strong moral sense, then perhaps I wouldn't have been here - You saved my life once, John, although I can't say too much about that because of the police presence. But ... thank you... for choosing me as your -best- man. Obvious choice really.

"Congratulations on your wedding day, John and Mary. And now an irrelevant segue into toasting the bridesmaid - Mary's maid-of-honour, er... "

"Helena," John muttered.

"Oh! Helena! Please charge your glasses..."

* * *

As the music began Violet felt teary again. Sherlock and Helena stood off to one side of the dance floor, waiting for their cue, along with both sets of parents of the bridal couple.

John and Mary moved slowly around the floor, sticking mostly to the middle - John looking slightly self-conscious with Mary smiling at him reassuringly. Sherlock was fiddling with his flower again and frowning.

Then part-way through the bridal waltz their parents joined them on the dance floor, which prompted Sherlock to hold out his hand to Helena. They began quite formally, and Violet saw Helena smile and raise her eyebrows in realisation at Sherlock's skill on the dance floor.

_Lucky girl,_ thought Violet. She watched them with her heart swelling with love for Sherlock. He glanced at her and winked.

Mrs Hudson leant over to Violet and whispered, "He's very good, isn't here?"

The next song commenced, and the bridal party swapped partners. Sherlock was dancing with Mary, and John with Helena. Violet noticed that most other people took their cues from the aunties and uncles, with the rest of the guests starting to join the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw Harry rise from her chair over at John's family's table, and begin to make a beeline for Violet's table.

_Oh fuck!_ thought Violet. She looked around at her table quickly. Lestrade and Molly were conversing intently. Wouldn't want to break up that happy couple. Harry was getting closer. That just left Mike Stamford or Max, Helena's boyfriend.

"Come on," Violet hissed, grabbing Max's hand. "We have to join them now."

"Er, what?" he said, confused.

"Quick! It's our turn. We're the...bridal party partners. We have to officially dance too, so we can swap our partners back. Quick! Up!"

Harry was almost upon them, having been briefly delayed when she was accosted by an aunty who insisted Harry find a nice young man to dance with.

Violet half dragged Max over to the floor, as Harry stood glaring at the edge.

"Middle's good," Violet said, pulling Max to the centre of the floor, into the safety of the crowd.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Just wait til I tell the boys I was dancing with Violet Hunter!"

"Oh, and you're pretty good too! Tell them I said that!" Violet gushed as she tried to keep them out of Harry's disapproving eye. "Um...so what do you do?" she inquired politely, forgetting that they'd already made small talk over dinner.

"Er... help desk. Second level support actually. Just moved last week."

"Help desk for?"

"Bringles."

"Oh," thought Violet, having no idea who that was.

"Management," he added, as if that would help her.

"Excellent. A promotion?" she asked, looking around, wondering where Sherlock and Mary were. She spied Sherlock dancing with Mary's mother.

"Uh, yeah. Temporary. Higher duties. But all quite boring really compared to your job?"

"Oh, I'm in between jobs at the moment."

"Oh, never mind. I'm sure something will turn up. You know they're always after dead prostitutes on DCI Barge."

"Yeah, I could do that. Dead prostitute. Might be right up my alley," Violet said automatically.

"Ah, there they are!" Max exclaimed.

Sherlock and Helena had swapped back, and were making their way over to Violet and Max.

"May we cut in?" laughed Helena.

"Oh, if you have to. We were enjoying ourselves," Violet grinned back. "Thank you Max!"

"Watch out, Harry's waiting for you!" Sherlock whispered to Violet as he took her in his embrace.

"I know. Just don't let me go, okay?"

"Not a chance," he whispered, and kissed her cheek. "Although..."

"No, Sherlock!"

They danced in silence for a little while, with Sherlock occasionally giving Violet small kisses on her cheek or neck.

Violet pulled back and caressed the nape of Sherlock's neck.

"You've done really well tonight!" she remarked. "What did you think of all that?"

"Oh..." he began, scowling. "Why do people spend so much time and effort celebrating every milestone and achievement in life. Just get on with it!"

"Oh," Violet said faintly, her heart sinking. She pulled herself in closer to Sherlock so she didn't have to look at him, or have him see her face. _Don't cry, Violet. You're pathetic. This is Sherlock you're in a relationship with. Sherlock Holmes. The Consulting Detective. Be happy with what you have._

"Violet," he began again, eyes half-slitted and glazed.

"Shh!"

"No, Violet..."

"Shh! Don't say anything. Don't spoil it - just...don't."

"I have something to say."

"You always have something to say. Just don't."

"But Violet!" he protested, holding her closer.

"Shh!"

"Stop shushing me! Look, I'm an intelligent man. I have a lot to say!"

"Sorry. What were you going to say?"

"That I like your breasts in this dress."

"What?" replied Violet incredulously, as Sherlock gave her a cheeky grin. "Asshole! Just...fucking...asshole."

* * *

"And where are you two off to?" Harry boomed at Violet and Sherlock as they tried to sneak out of the reception venue.

"Um..." replied Violet, wracking her brain for a suitable excuse.

"To have sex in the undergrowth," Sherlock stated.

"Huh," snorted Harry, sounding just like John. "Yeah, good one." She punched Sherlock in the arm, then continued staggering away from them.

"I know who I'm getting to accompany you to Manchester next time."

"Shut up! Now show me to this undergrowth thing."

Sherlock led Violet out of the marquee, across the darkened lawn toward the old abbey.

"Not really undergrowth. More like an alleyway made between the brick wall of the building and this row of trees. Should be to your specifications, Ms Hunter."

"Stop talking," Violet whispered, pulling Sherlock toward her as she felt the rough surface of the brickwork against her back. "Sometimes you just talk too much."

Sherlock bent his head. "Excuse me Mr. Mouse," he said, moving Violet's pendant around to the back of her neck. "This is not something I want you to see."

"Who are you talking to?" Violet whispered.

"Nobody," Sherlock answered, gently kissing Violet's cleavage and cupping one hand underneath her breasts.

* * *

"You two missed the cutting of the wedding cake. Where were you?" Mrs Hudson asked sternly.

"Thought I saw a masked bandit outside, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied.

"A likely story. Now, don't go anywhere Violet. They're throwing the bouquet soon!"

"No, I won't," Violet replied, feeling both embarrassed and self-conscious. Sherlock was busy trying to make his rose stand upright, having been reminded about flowers.

"Stop fiddling. You'll only make it worse," Violet whispered to him, adjusting his lapel for him.

Violet cringed as the DJ announced the throwing of the bouquet. She was herded into the centre of the dance floor along with all of the other single ladies by well meaning aunts of Mary's. Sherlock hissed, "Go Violet!"

_Wonder if he knows about this tradition,_ thought Violet. _Probably just being competitive._

Mary positioned herself at the top of the dance floor. She looked around at Violet, who was off to one side, near the back, and winked.

_Oh God, please don't, thought Violet._

Mary faced the front, then launched her bouquet into a beautiful arc, slightly to the left. Violet and Molly were being jostled forward by some enthusiastic cousins, when suddenly, swoosh! out of right field lunged Harry, who plucked the bouquet out of the air.

"Woo hooo, champion!" Harry exclaimed, holding her prize aloft.

Violet clapped with relief.

"Look out ladies!" yelled Harry, still whooping it up.

Tender arms encircled Violet from behind as her cheek was brushed by Sherlock's lips.

"Never mind," he whispered. "Here."

He turned her around and presented Violet with the rose from his lapel.

"Because you missed out, you can have mine."

Then he kissed her lightly on the lips, his eyes glazed, his intentions sincere.

* * *

"And the true meaning behind this is, that the real best man... the most virile and manly of men at the wedding has to catch this. Okay?" John whispered conspiratorially to Sherlock, intentionally misleading him. "So make sure you catch it, or Violet won't think you're a man at all!"

John snorted, then clapped Sherlock on the back.

So Sherlock stood in the middle near the back of the dance floor, Lestrade to one side of him, cousins, medicos and ex-army dudes all around.

Violet held her hand near her eyes so she could hide them if necessary. _This could go so wrong,_ she thought.

The garter was launched. Sherlock stuck out his foot as Lestrade side-stepped, tripping him up. Sherlock's elbow connected with Helena's boyfriend's jaw as Sherlock effortlessly snatched the garter out of the air.

"Yes!" he said vehemently, then "Oorf!" as Lestrade rugby tackled him.

"Ow!" Lestrade howled. "I'm getting too old for this!" He rolled off Sherlock as Helena's boyfriend snatched the garter from Sherlock, who was still lying on the floor, stunned.

"Woo hoo!" yelled Max, stretching the garter over his head and taking off toward Helena.

John strolled over and offered a hand to Sherlock.

"I still won," Sherlock muttered. "But I was side-swiped."

"Technically that's not winning," John replied, grunting as he heaved Sherlock to his feet. "Good life lesson too."

Sherlock strolled over to Violet who just wanted to melt into the floor.

"See! It's proven time and time again!" Sherlock said gleefully, referring to his manhood.

"I'm not sure what's been proven," Violet answered faintly as Sherlock drew her into a hug.

John followed Sherlock over and wrapped his arms around them both. He slurred, "I love you!" to Violet, kissing her on the cheek, "And you," kissing Sherlock on the cheek. "You're my two favourite people. Favourite."

"John," Sherlock remarked, his voice a tad lower, unsure of what had just happened, and reasserting his manliness.

John, with his arms still around the pair, turned to Violet. "Marry him. He's a good sort. He'll make you happy." Then he turned to Sherlock. "You and me, we have to talk." Then he patted Sherlock's face. "You know you're next! We'll talk okay? Just you and me. Violet okay? There's no one else for you. Don't let her get away! She'll be off...she'll be off... making movies with those shhhirtless hunks in Australia...and you don't want to lose her!"

"John, leave them alone," Mary spoke, interrupting him.

Violet looked up at Sherlock, as Mary led John away.

_Will we ever marry, Sherlock?_ she wondered.

Sherlock looked down at her. _Oh God, she's going to ask me about Australia again._

"I know what you're going to ask," he said sternly. "And the answer's 'no'!"

* * *

**A/N:** I found it soooo hard to write this chapter! As if writing a fan fic isn't hard enough - I have to write a speech too!? That's why I put off John's wedding for so long. It's my fault they were engaged for over a year!  
Thanks for all the follows and favourites! Loving all the reviews. They make my day! If you haven't reviewed before, would love to hear what you think! And if you _have_ reviewed before - I love you! (in a fanfiction community kind of way...)  
Please. (as Sherlock would say) or Pleeeeeeeease? (as Moriarty would say).


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

They were making out on the couch. Violet was talking about something - something to do with literature, or literary festivals, or reading books to fans, or something Sherlock only feigned an interest in. He was far more interested in how the contours of her neck felt between his teeth and tongue, and the way she shivered as he stole his hand underneath her pyjama top and massaged her breasts.

He was successful in interrupting her one-sided conversation for a little while - their hands inside each other's pyjama bottoms, now fully focussed on stroking and massaging one another until their breath came in shallow bursts ...

After Sherlock had returned to the living room and had sat back down on the couch with fresh underwear on, he asked Violet, "Tell me again how you're going to abandon me?"

"I swear you never listen to the details anyway."

"No, you're right. You'd be better off telling me where and for how long."

"All around the U.K. for just over a week. Back in London for two weeks, then the U.S. for one week. Back in London for a month, then Brisbane for six weeks, then..."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Six weeks?"

"Yes."

Sherlock calculated something in his mind for a minute then said, "Continue."

But he was no longer listening. The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach was growing. This was like breaking up with her all over again. She was going to be far away. Very, very far away, and unreachable. Except via the internet or gossip magazines. Apart from the occasional text or midnight phonecall, he may as well be a fan.

And with that, Violet was gone. A week around the U.K, starting with a flight to Glasgow, then Manchester, then on the train south to Birmingham, south-west to Bristol then back east to London. There was a big push to promote the_ Catherine Hilderness_ mini-series with photo opps, interviews on local TV shows, radio and special literary symposiums, book readings and a fashion parade.

"I don't know why you're going when you have such a small part," Sherlock had commented.

"Oh, it kind of grew in the editing. I was only supposed to be in part one, for about half of it, but they liked my scenes so they made it more of a flashback that occurs during all three episodes. So...I think they're promoting me more than Ursula Aldman - a bit awkward."

"Well she is a bit old."

"That's not nice! And anyway, she's about your age."

"Then she obviously doesn't keep her youthful looks like I do," Sherlock smirked.

Violet had sent Sherlock a signed copy of a "fashion" spread she had done for a men's magazine weeks earlier, which had just been published while she was away. It featured black and white photos of Violet dressed in a corset, sitting on a bed, lacing up her boots with a male figure standing in the doorway.

SHERLOCK: [ Who? ]

VIOLET: [ Don't worry! Just a male model. He's meant to be blurred out in the background, adding to the atmosphere. ]

SHERLOCK: [ And what does he get to do when he's not all blurry? ]

Sherlock had torn the article out of the magazine, minus blurry-man, and stuck it on the inside of his bathroom door.

Sherlock had taken objection to the production company's stopping in Manchester, but Violet had reassured him that their schedule was tight - a panel interview plus fancy lunch, a couple of 'coffee shop' interviews with local magazines, then an afternoon interview at MNC-FM radio, then back on the train to Birmingham, with a brief stop in Gloucester.

"I don't even have time to stick a needle in my leg, let alone anyone else's!" she'd remarked, to which Sherlock commented, "Not funny, Violet!"

Violet briefed Sherlock on Jake's condition, as relayed to her via Danny. He was on a swift road to recovery, and could move his limbs, but no load-bearing as yet.

"Anything else to tell us about Moran?"

"No, not through Danny," Violet replied.

Sherlock thought this odd. _There must be more_, he thought.

Part-way through Violet's U.K. tour, she had snuck back into London, and very stealthily into Baker Street in the middle of the night. She slowly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom, checking by the light of her phone that he was indeed there, and not burning the candle at both ends at the lab, or stalking some master-criminal through the back streets of Brixton.

Satisfied that he was there and asleep, she shed her clothes in the small passageway outside his room, and stole inside. Luckily, for Violet, Sherlock preferred to spend these sweltering July summer nights sleeping naked. She slid in beside him. He was lying on his side, so she snuggled in under his chin and into his chest, kissing him lightly there until he sleepily embraced her.

Sherlock just thought Violet had woken him up for some midnight sex, but then realized Violet wasn't meant to be there. He sleepily enjoyed her amorous attentions, until he was fully awake, deducing why she was back in London for half a day. He knew this day would come, and wondered how Violet would cope. Dreading what the morning would bring, he fell into a heavy sleep again.

Violet woke up super-early. Even Sherlock was still asleep.

"Sherlock!" she whispered, and kissed him on his forehead.

"No," he grumbled.

"No, not that... I want to do something this morning, before I have to be back in Birmingham, and I don't want you to hate it."

Sherlock opened one eye. "No."

"Please! I know what day it is, just..."

"No, definitely not." He shut his eye again.

"Please? Just - something -."

"No. Nothing. I despise it entirely," he muttered sleepily.

"A little something."

"Violet, you'll make it worse," he murmured, his voice ragged from sleep. "Just say it and get it over with."

"Something special."

"No. Say it."

"Sherlock."

"I've hated this my entire life. Just say it and let me go back to sleep."

Violet hung her head, disappointed.

She kissed him on the lips, his eyes still shut and she whispered, "Happy birthday, Sherlock."

* * *

Violet was vey excited. Much more excited than getting to play a super hero Egyptian deity, or getting to work with acclaimed director Damien Oakeshott.

A case! A case with Sherlock in the country, and it had come during her two weeks off in London. It couldn't have been more perfect.

Sherlock kept shooting her annoying glances whenever Violet would grin stupidly at him, or grab his hand as they drove along in their hired four-wheel drive along the winding roads to a house in Boscombe Valley, Herefordshire.

Sherlock had received an email requesting his assistance and discretion in finding a missing painting belonging to a family who had lost most of their wealth over the years due to the industrialisation in the area. The house belonged to a Charles McCarthy who lived there with his wife, a butler, housekeeper-cook and groundskeeper. One morning their precious Turner sketch had gone missing. The McCarthy family didn't want any publicity as it may become known that they possessed quite a few art treasures, but not the means to keep them secure.

As they pulled up at the rambling manor, Sherlock stopped the rover short, some thirty metres from the drive.

"I don't want to disturb any evidence," he stated, when Violet protested at the muddy drive versus her new leather boots. "This is an investigation, not a fashion parade," Sherlock reprimanded.

They approached the house, walking along the side of the half mud, half gravel drive, with Sherlock taking in every dip, ditch, tyre mark, footprint and puddle. Violet was dreading the moment he would leap to the ground, muddying his ... her.. favourite coat. His Belstaff.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, and ... Ms Hunter?" Charles McCarthy was surprised to see Violet. "How lovely to have you along to assist. A pleasing addition of course. I'm sorry for answering the door myself. My butler appears to be out of earshot."

"Have you recently had a function of some sort?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the pleasantries.

"No, no, we keep largely to ourselves these days. Would you like to come in?" he asked as Sherlock stood back from the house, frowning, and looking up into the gables and along the eaves. He turned suddenly and stared back along the drive as if calculating something. "Mr Holmes?" their host reiterated.

Violet stood back, silently. She knew better than to interrupt Sherlock's train of thought.

"Of course," Sherlock said eventually, smiling what Violet thought was a fake smile. "Don't mind me!"

They entered the small, well-lit entrance. It had been brightened with the addition of a skylight, plus the light was further magnified due to not one but three mirrors adorning the walls.

"This way," McCarthy motioned them, he began telling them about the history of the house to which Sherlock only half listened. He kept peering up at the ceiling cornices and ran his hand along the wall as their host directed them into a large sitting room.

"This is where it hung. Along that wall there." He indicated an obvious blank spot on one wall. There were many paintings and framed illustrations mounted on that wall, in fact every wall. And each wall also had the addition of one or two mirrors - each.

Sherlock ignored the place where the missing picture had hung as he moved to one end of the room, then paced along the wall as if measuring it. Violet began asking questions of Charles McCarthy as to who was home that night, who discovered the missing painting - all questions she knew had been answered in the email, but she felt as if she ought to be doing something and Sherlock was barely talking to the man.

Soon enough, Sherlock had thrown himself to the ground and was peering underneath a sofa. He then strode out of the room, opening a door on the far side.

"Oh! Would you like to see that room?" asked McCarthy in a fluster. "Now this is the formal dining room. We hardly use it, as you can see. Quite bare," he said sheepishly as if to apologise for the sparseness of the room.

"Shh!" Sherlock said abruptly. He held out his hand as if to silence their host, then he tread slowly and carefully along the floorboards until he came to a cupboard.

"For storing napery," McCarthy said. "No longer used. I don't even have the key unfortunately."

Sherlock stepped backwards, frowning. Then he turned and marched back into the sitting room.

"I'd like to look outside now," he said impassively.

"Oh, yes of course," McCarthy said, opening the double French doors. "Er...ah...there was this mark," he gestured to the threshold, which Violet observed to be sporting a muddy footprint.

"Yes, wonderful," Sherlock commented, ignoring the mark and sniffing the air.

"Um...and a bit of a disturbance over here?" McCarthy said, as Sherlock turned in the opposite direction, toward an old gate, opening onto a small path. Sherlock strode through the gate with McCarthy hurrying along behind him. "Oh we don't use this area at all."

"Really!" Sherlock stated as Violet looked quickly around the small garden.

She was just about to follow after the men when Sherlock came striding back, McCarthy puffing along behind him. Sherlock then carefully walked along the outside of the house, measuring his paces again.

"Back inside once more, if you please Mr McCarthy," and then Sherlock stopped Violet just before she entered, whispering in her ear, "When I give you a signal, seductively remove your shirt for me. Then put it back on when I don't react. Just do exactly as I say, and don't question me."

Bewildered, Violet followed Sherlock back into the house and into the sitting room._ He wants me to strip in front of Charles McCarthy. What the fuck is that all about? Is this the Francis Carfax thing all over again? Flashing my breasts to get inside information?_

"Mr McCarthy, if you would be so kind as to give Violet and I one minute to investigate this room. If you could perhaps find that elusive butler, that would be much appreciated."

"Oh! The butler you say!" exclaimed McCarthy in delight. And he scurried away, leaving Violet looking puzzled at Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock walked over and leant along one wall, next to the largest mirror, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning his head back against the wall. He winked at Violet, which she read as the 'signal'.

Heart beating wildly at such a bizarre request from her boyfriend, and while on a case in somebody else's sitting room, Violet gave Sherlock a knowing smile and started unbuttoning her shirt. Sherlock watched her in mild amusement, a twinkle in his eye.

Violet reached the final button, then shrugged off the shirt, gazing expectantly at Sherlock. He winked again, and then left his position against the wall, walking back over to the entrance of the sitting room. He gazed out into the passageway.

Violet took that as the second signal, so she set about dressing herself again.

"Come on then," Sherlock said to Violet as he made his way back to the entrance.

McCarthy entered at that moment, with a tall, elderly gentlemen sporting a short, greying crop of hair. He was wearing a suit.

"Ah, the butler I presume?" Sherlock said amiably. "Well, excellent. He certainly looks very butler-ish."

McCarthy looked confused. "Did you want to question Ames? And the groundskeeper?"

"Ah, no, Mr McCarthy. We'll be off. Thank you for the game," he said whispering pleasantly.

Violet was completely confused now, but knew better than to question Sherlock at this stage of the 'game'.

Sherlock's face then hardened when he said quite menacingly, "Don't think for one second you can use any of the footage you recorded here this morning. It would be illegal without our permission. You'll be hearing from our lawyers. Good day!"

And he strode off along the muddy drive, with Violet hastening to keep up with him.

"Okay..." she began.

"Not yet," he replied.

"Oh, Mr Holmes!" called a male voice from the front doorstep. Not McCarthy, but a much younger man, sporting heavily oiled, slicked back dark hair.

The man came walking briskly after them. "Miles Denver," he said, extending his hand which Sherlock ignored. "Producer."

"Ah, good. You have a name. Helps with the court case."

"H-how did you know?" the oily man asked, still smiling broadly.

"I didn't know. I noticed," Sherlock began. "Shall we walk this way, out of view of your cameras?"He continued walking down the driveway, toward their rover. "You smoothed out the driveway after all your vans that carried your equipment here had left, leaving you a blank canvas upon which to mark your lovely odd-shaped footprints for me to find, probably leading around the house to the back door. I wonder whose shoes they will fit? Possibly the butler. Limping.

"However somebody forgot to clean the gravel road. All of your muddy van tyres made a good track of it just in front of where I parked there." He pointed to the road. "No tracks in the driveway. Mysterious muddy tyre prints on the road. Two vans by the look of it.

"And surveillance equipment," he continued. "It hums. I can hear it."

Oily man gaped at him.

"An excess of mirrors. Really? One way mirrors behind which your little network of cameras were hidden. The main mirror hanging on the wall hid the little room where you and your technicians sat, whispering in the dark while my girlfriend took off her shirt. I could hear you all gasping behind the wall. Really hope you weren't masturbating back there.

"The size of the sitting room combined with the size of the dining room did not equal the length outside the house. I knew there was a little room hidden in a cavity somewhere. The cupboard with the lost key?

"And smoko time. Always could detect where the smokers gather. Huddled behind the house along a little garden path. Fresh cigarette butts dropped in the mud. Too many to be one person - even a chain smoker such as myself.

"And tut-tut Mr Denver - butlers really don't walk around holding a white cloth everywhere they go. A good effort though. You could probably sell it as an amusement park."

* * *

"Can you really hear the humming of surveillance equipment?"

"No. Sounded impressive though, didn't it!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. This really sucks."

"I don't know why you're sorry."

"All this - public attention. Now they're setting up phony cases so they can film you... and do what? Air it? They can't do that without your permission."

"No. They probably thought I'd solve the case of the missing painting - the butler did it obviously. Then me, being a creative genius, obviously craving an audience, thought I'd jump at the chance to let the world know how I did it."

Violet sighed. "I'm sorry," she said again. "What was his name again?"

"Miles Denver."

"Okay," Violet said, searching on her phone as they were driving back along the winding country roads. "Here. Miles Denver. Producer of now defunct celebrity prank show _Gotcha Mate!_ now producing infomercials. Looks like he's trying to get back into the game. I'd better ring my agency and see what their lawyers think."

Sherlock was quietly thinking while Violet made her phone-call._ This is a joke. I'm being turned into a circus act. See Sherlock tame the lions! See Sherlock swing on a trapeze. Watch as Sherlock performs a death defying leap through the air while chasing after a master criminal. Master criminal! Pfft._ What was he reduced to now that Mycroft had thrown him off the Moran case?

"They're checking it out," Violet finished as Sherlock came back to reality. "Do you have a lawyer?"

"Sorry, what?"

"A lawyer. Do you have one?"

"Why would I have a lawyer?"

"Some self-employed people have lawyers, in case their clients sue or something."

"Why would a client sue me?"

"I guess that's a 'no' then. You may have to get yourself one if this has to go to court. The agency's lawyers won't cover you."

"I can fight my own battles," Sherlock murmured.

Violet sighed again. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock replied, rather irritably, "Don't speak anymore. I need to think. Don't you have a script to read or something?"

* * *

"How would you feel about me in a scene where the leading man and I are simulating sex?"

Sherlock stopped typing and slowly turned toward Violet, who was seated on the couch, one foot up on the coffee table, painting her toe nails.

"Sorry, what?"

"I think you heard."

"Well, I don't know."

"You must have an opinion?"

Sherlock sighed. He shut his laptop, and then his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Shh!"

Violet watched him for a few seconds, frowned, then looked back down at her toes._ Ugh, too messy. God, I suck at this._ She grabbed the nail polisher remover and started taking off the polish on each toe.

"Nope. Not good," Sherlock stated eventually, opening his eyes again.

Violet laughed. "What were you doing?"

"Visualising. You and that bull-guy."

"Not as a bull I hope."

"No. As people. Having sex."

"Oh. Not good then?"

"Depends on how good your simulation is," Sherlock replied, placing his computer down on the ground beside his armchair.

"It's supposed to look like we're actually having sex, and enjoying it. No nude bits though. And it won't be with Irkhardt."

"But you're supposed to be naked?" Sherlock stood up and walked over to Violet. He stopped in front of the coffee table, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Supposedly. Look, I won't know what the shot will come out as. I've just read this synopsis they've sent through - it's a production company in England, you'll be happy to know. It says 'implied nudity and sex scenes'".

"Who with?"

"Does it matter?"

"Who with?" he repeated.

Violet smiled. "Alex Breville."

Sherlock hung his head. "Mr Huggy."

Violet laughed. "Yes."

"What's he doing in film? I thought he was a TV actor."

"Well, so am I, theoretically. He did a thing in the U.S. and now he's a darling of British fans...Anyway, you said you're not comfortable with that so I won't do it."

Sherlock walked around and sat on the coffee table, facing Violet, and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"I didn't say I wasn't comfortable with it."

"So I can do it?"

"Are you asking my permission?" he said with a slightly amused look on his face.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because such scenes may upset you."

"Me working on the Moran case and going to Manchester upset you, and I still went."

Violet regarded Sherlock for a moment, then said, "So what you're saying is, I should do what I want to do?"

"I didn't say that. Stop putting words into my mouth."

Frustrated, Violet threw a cotton ball down. "Well you're not answering the fuckin' question!"

"I detest the idea of you pretending to fornicate with another man on a screen nine metres high and twenty metres wide for all the world to see, but I'm not going to tell you what to do. It's your ..._ job._..," he finished with distaste.

"Oh, this again."

Violet stood up, so Sherlock also stood to block her way - to prevent her from storming off.

"Sit," he commanded.

"No."

"Sit down, Violet. We're not doing the fighting thing again. We're going to sit here like two rational people and discuss this until we're done. No fighting. No running off to another city, becoming embroiled in some fucking underworld drama while we haven't resolved our own argument. Nothing. Stay here until we're both finished."

Violet sat, picked up another cotton ball and started furiously wiping her toenail polish off.

"What are you doing? Didn't you just put that on?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment as he sat back down on the coffee table.

"It's all wrong! It's all fucking wrong!" she yelled, throwing the cotton ball down again.

"Violet," Sherlock said softly, reaching out and holding her hand. "It's not your toenails that are upsetting you. Let's talk, hmmm?"

Violet looked up at Sherlock, clearly upset. She said in a small voice, "I don't want to go."

"Go where?"

"To Australia."

"Why not?"

"It's too far away from you. And it's for two months, and you won't come."

"Two months? I thought you said six weeks in Brisbane," Sherlock stated, perplexed.

"And then you stopped listening! I said six weeks in Brisbane, then a week off - but we'd have that week off in Australia anyway - I'd be mad to come back to England, then two weeks in Sydney - still Australia!"

"Well that's not much longer than six weeks."

"But you won't come."

Sherlock sighed. "I don't do holidays well, you know that."

"But a case?"

"I can't just invent cases, Violet."

Sherlock looked at her, not understanding. "This is your job! Haven't you always wanted this? A movie with a big production company? And you're an adult! Surely you can survive without me for two months. We broke up for three!"

Sherlock looked down. He was as uncomfortable as she was, but one of them had to put on a brave face. This was ridiculous. It was only two months! Why was he feeling upset?

"Look, just do whatever makes you comfortable. I don't know what effect your movie choices will have on your career overall. I don't understand the whole industry as it is, Violet. I honestly think both movies will have to be your decision. And you're hesitating to do both because of me. I don't... I don't want you to resent me in either case. I'm trying to do my best here. I'm trying to be supportive and ignore all the - fucking - photographers - outside whenever I have to go out. And the emails and the websites, and cards - fucking cards - with lovehearts all over the envelopes..."

He stood up and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Violet said softly.

Sherlock began pacing the living room. "I think I'm going mad," he muttered. "Fucking mad! I can't find a single fucking case in amongst that lot!" He indicated his computer. "And my inbox is full! I have to go see Mycroft. He's got a case for me. This is fucking insane."

He turned and grabbed his coat from the door.

"Sherlock. You're not allowed to storm out," Violet said in a calm voice.

Sherlock stopped. His mouth turned down. He looked at Violet. She raised her eyebrows at him. He smiled weakly as Violet stood up and moved over to him. She reached up for him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace and said, "Now_ I'm_ sorry."

"What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry about it, Violet," he whispered. "We'll manage. We always do."

* * *

**A/N:** Such lovely reviews after the last chap, thank you! Please keep reviewing - it keeps me buoyed up and motivated! Even just a smiley face ( complete with bullet holes) will do :)


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: **I was really keen to get this chapter out, so it's a day early... :)

* * *

**Chapter 47**

"I don't know why you're putting yourself through so much torture," Sherlock remarked, sitting back in his armchair, sipping a cup of tea as Violet strode in almost keeling over in pain.

"Can't talk. Fuck off!"

_You can still manage to swear though, _thought Sherlock.

Violet took off upstairs to stretch down, and shower in peace, without having Sherlock criticising her strict diet and exercise regime as he had been doing every minute of the day during the last week.

Yes, she had decided to go to Australia, but still hadn't made a decision on whether to accept the part in the London-based romance/drama featuring Regency Road's ex-hunk Alex Breville until she had a meeting with the casting director.

So now Sherlock had another couple of names for Mycroft to run through his system. Damien Oakeshott, the director for _Catherine Hilderness_ had checked out okay, but that still didn't give Sherlock the confidence that any other producer or director who _wanted_ Violet wasn't someone seedy. He knew those Hollywood types. Violet hadn't given Sherlock the name of the London casting director yet, but she had told him who was producing the independent detective film, so he passed the name on to Mycroft. And of course Mycroft had rolled his eyes and stated, "This director was a Hollywood leading man for a number of years, Sherlock - particularly in the eighties. And his wife received a lifetime achievement award to the Performing Arts in 2003. You really should pay attention!"

Violet was giving herself a month to get into some sort of shape, ready to be trained to be a fighting machine for _The Rise of the Five._

"You'd better behave yourself!" Violet had threatened Sherlock. "When I get back from shooting this movie and after all the training they'll be putting me through I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Pretending to fight and really fighting are two different things. If you'd asked me, I'd have taught you how to box."

"You can't box!"

"University champion, three years running. Well, four, but technically I didn't attend uni in the fourth year, but they asked me back for the fight. Although I think that's because there was a whole line of people who wanted to beat the crap out of me. Still won though. Don't forget you punch like a girl!"

"I don't punch like a girl! So...", thought Violet, slightly amused, "There would be a university somewhere that has your name up on a board, and trophies still sitting in your parents' display cabinet along with your chess ones."

Sherlock looked at Violet with disdain. "I never played chess. And no, there are no trophies anywhere. These weren't the official university-sanctioned bouts; these were in the empty warehouses, just out of town, at midnight. Bare-knuckle fighting. I won a lot of money betting on myself too."

"Oh," Violet responded faintly, visualising a youthful Sherlock, bare-knuckled, possibly bare-chested, glistening with sweat, ducking and weaving amongst shouts from a hostile crowd all around him, beating the crap out of someone who had it in for him. What an odd turn on...

Sherlock proceeded to teach Violet to punch, helping her hold her fists just so, how to stand, how to duck and weave, then getting her to throw punches at him, during which he kept dodging and laughing at her. But he had declined when she asked him if he would like to take his shirt off.

"Right, start from the ball of your foot..."

And then she punched him, hard, in the stomach, when Sherlock turned to Mrs Hudson who had just called out to him from the stairwell.

Mrs Hudson was not impressed with either of them.

Sherlock collapsed to the floor, the wind knocked out of him as Violet stood gleefully by, under the harsh gaze of their landlady.

"That's great!" Sherlock gasped, hoarsely, not quite enough air returning to his lungs to speak effectively.

"I feel as though I can't leave you two alone for a minute!" Mrs Hudson commented exasperatedly. "I've got a package for you Sherlock. Looks like more science equipment."

"Thanks Mrs Hudson," Violet replied, taking the package and placing it on the living room table. "Cuppa?"

The two females ignored the injured detective, and walked into the kitchen, as Sherlock rolled onto his side on the living room carpet and moaned.

* * *

Sherlock was anxious about Violet going to New York city for a week all by herself, so he looked up the crime statistics for the city and told her which areas to avoid.

"Although, the murder rate is at an all time low in New York city. What's wrong with the criminal element these days? It's a good thing I'm not one of them."

Except Violet wasn't going by herself. Her agent, Polly Stoper, was accompanying her as she visited the independent production company, Splendor Pictures, that was producing the as yet unnamed detective film. Violet was going to film some teaser scenes to help get the movie funded.

"They're making a movie but they don't have any money to make it?" Sherlock scoffed.

"It's an indie film. They're going to rely on crowd funding, so they want to put a name and a face to it as soon as possible," Violet replied.

"Crowd funding," muttered Sherlock, picturing a crowd of people swarming around Violet holding out American dollar bills.

"They'll set up a website, list the target amount and the project, and then people can donate. Even you!"

"Excellent," remarked Sherlock, rapidly losing interest in the conversation.

While in the U.S. she was also supposed to fly another five hours westward to meet with the Chief Operating Officer of Etienne-Lumiere Studios in Los Angeles, the studio producing _Anuket's Children: The Rise of the Five._ But the C.O.O. decided he could do with some networking in New York, so he agreed to meet Violet and her rep there.

Violet thought Polly accompanying her was just a rort. Violet was supposed to be meeting with a U.S-based talent agency who would look after her American interests thereafter. There wasn't any need for Miss Stoper at all. What she did need, she concluded, was a personal assistant.

"What do you need a personal assistant for?" Sherlock had asked.

"With all these filming schedules and interviews and tours I know I'm going to forget to be somewhere."

"Mmm. Like Baker Street," Sherlock muttered.

"I was thinking of asking Mandi."

"Mandi?" Sherlock repeated, with distaste. "Why not me? I can tell you where to be. I got you off to your first ever early morning interview, remember?"

"Oh, how sweet, you volunteering to be my P.A. But I'm your P.A, so how does that work?"

"You don't need a personal assistant, just someone to remind you where to be, you said."

"Well, it may be a bit more than that. Mandi also has her finger on the pulse of what's happening in the world of entertainment. She know's who's hot and who's not."

"So do I," Sherlock replied sullenly. "You're hot, and everyone else is not."

Violet laughed, and felt compelled to wrap her arms around Sherlock and ruffle his hair a bit. "And if someone rings to ask you if Violet Hunter is available the Friday after next and you answer the phone while standing over a corpse, you're just going to tell them to fuck off!"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "That's true."

"I'll ask Mandi when I get back from New York."

The day before she was to leave, Sherlock finally had had enough of all of the dodgy email cases he was receiving and decided to pay his brother a visit. He chose a time when Violet was at the gym so she wouldn't ask to accompany him. He didn't want her to worry about whatever case Mycroft was giving him. He could quietly work on it without Violet looking over his shoulder while she was in the states.

"Ah, Sherlock, finally!"

"The case, Mycroft?"

"Hardly new. You know the subject already. Irene Adler."

Mycroft once again handed Sherlock Irene Adler's file. Sherlock tutted and opened it.

"What's the case, Mycroft? Is her wardrobe missing? Tools of the trade?"

"Yes, most amusing, Sherlock. Ms Adler approached us. It seems she had some... information. She was to meet our operative in Paris, but she never made the appointment. She's been missing ever since. We want you to find her, or rather, find out what happened to her. We suspect foul play, given the nature of the information she was holding."

"Which was?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, "None of your concern, Sherlock."

"Then I won't take the case," Sherlock replied, standing up and holding out the file to Mycroft.

Mycroft ignored the file and continued, "Oh, you will, Sherlock. Tell me, how was Boscombe Valley? An intriguing mystery. Did you recover the stolen Turner sketch?"

Sherlock eyed his brother for a moment - the realisation that he had no other genuine cases to work on hit him. "All right. Fine."

"Good, good," remarked Mycroft, smiling slightly. "Now you should start in Paris, as that was her last known sighting. And given that Ms Hunter is leaving for the United States tomorrow it may be the best opportunity for you to steal away to Paris, don't you think?"

"I don't have to 'steal away' Mycroft. I don't have to keep any secrets from Violet."

"Really, Sherlock? Well I don't believe Mummy has met your girlfriend yet, and it's been, what four months now since your little reunion? And she had to find out via the television. How crass, Sherlock."

"Good day, Mycroft!"

* * *

SHERLOCK: [ Meet me for lunch at Angelo's? SH ]

VIOLET: [ Oooh. Date? Are you sure it's lunch? Will you be there? ]

SHERLOCK: [ Don't get your hopes up. Yes it's really Angelo's. Yes I'll be there. And no, no alleyways - it's broad daylight! SH ]

VIOLET: [ Pooh. That's boring. ]

VIOLET: [ love you! x ]

No, no fun surprises this time, thought Sherlock. And he had been dreading the last week, thinking Violet was going to bring out a surprise birthday cake or (worse!) sing Happy Birthday to him at some stage, but she hadn't.

Sherlock hadn't known but one week before his birthday Mycroft had sent Violet a text saying, "Under no circumstances are you even to acknowledge my little brother's birthday this week. Just a friendly warning!" Which Violet found extremely rude. She was already plotting how she could surprise Sherlock with her return from her U.K. tour with presents and dinner, etc. She was really racking her brain about it, when two days before she received another text, this one from John. "Don't wish Sherlock a Happy Birthday. Not if you value your life x."

But she couldn't ignore it, and it hadn't gone too badly, had it?

Today Sherlock just wanted to have lunch the day before Violet was to fly out. Just lunch, and also to tell her about Paris, and Irene Adler.

"Why don't you have the tortellini boscaiola, then I can have a taste to see if I like it for next time?" Violet suggested.

"No, I'm not eating - why don't you order it?"

"Because I can only have salad. Why aren't you eating? You only do that when you have a case. Ooh, have you got a case?"

"Yes, from Mycroft."

"Oh! Please tell me it's in Australia? You did tell him about Australia didn't you?"

"No, Violet. And I didn't. You're not going to be there for over a month anyway. No, it's in Paris."

Violet gasped, and her eyes widened. "I've never been to Paris! When are you going? When I get back? Oh my God, Paris!"

"Violet."

"First New York, and then Paris!"

"Violet."

Her face fell. "You're not going without me?"

"I'm sorry."

"But what's the case?"

"Missing person."

"Could they stay missing for an extra week?"

"Violet. It's...it's Irene Adler."

"What?"

"She's missing. Mycroft needs me to find her, or find out what happened to her."

"Why is Mycroft looking for her?"

"The British Government is looking for her. She has information they want."

"Probably teased the Prime Minister with her riding crop... But - what are you going to do if you find her?"

"Hand her over."

* * *

Sherlock tutted.

"What?"

"You're boarding and I just want to give you a goodbye kiss."

"So give me a goodbye kiss."

Sherlock turned his head and glared at a man several metres away holding up a camera. He strolled over to him while Violet, in a panicked voice called, "Sherlock!"

"Do you mind!" Sherlock growled at the man.

"Free country, mate. Public place 'n all."

"Would the free country like to know you just masturbated in the public toilets of the airport? Should I take a photo of the slight staining on your trousers?"

The man looked aghast as Sherlock whipped out his mobile from his pocket and focussed it on his trousers. He scurried away, as Sherlock smirked.

"Sherlock!" Violet hissed, joining him.

"Over here by the secure check-in," Sherlock beckoned.

"Why?"

"No one's allowed to take photos of security facilities or staff at airports. They'll be pounced on in a second. Here..." He drew Violet closer. "I'll take you to Paris another time," Sherlock whispered as he kissed Violet.

"Be careful," Violet said softly.

Sherlock rested his forehead against Violet's.

"Don't go anywhere by yourself," he warned. "And don't drink any alcohol on the plane."

"Don't get left alone with Irene Adler," Violet warned.

They kissed again.

"I love you!" Violet whispered.

"You're boarding. Go!" hissed Sherlock, but he hadn't let her go. "I love you too," he whispered.

Violet flew out of London bound for New York at 9:20am. Sherlock flew out bound for Paris at 9:50am.

* * *

Violet's initial meeting with ex-actor, now producer/director Justin Behme of Spendor Pictures was to take place in the late afternoon, New York time. They arrived in New York just after 11am, taking over an hour to get through customs and reach their hotel.

Violet was feeling anxious about Sherlock. _Irene Adler? Really?_

Polly was annoying her. _Really, I don't need a chaperone,_ Violet thought. But Polly muscled in on the meeting anyway. It was in a cafe and pastry shop in what they called New York's real Little Italy, Arthur Avenue in The Bronx. Violet met with Justin and his wife, Virginia Schalder, an ex-actor herself, now producer.

Violet had butterflies in her stomach. She felt like a bit of a fan girl herself. Other diners kept stealing glances at the group. _Not because of me,_ Violet thought, quite accurately. _Because of them. _She studied the fifty-something year old show-biz professional. She was a complete novice next to him. Next to them. Justin still sported the same slicked back longish fringe he had when he was acting in his twenties, except for the greying around his temples. His face was slightly more weathered now, the wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled more permanent. He spoke gently, but Violet kept imagining him grabbing the next waiter and slamming his face into the table as she'd seen him do in the movie _Van Cortlandt Park._

Virginia was less well-known for her acting abilities, working mostly behind the scenes, but just as famous for being Justin's long-term partner - marrying him at the height of his career much to the dismay of female fans around the globe.

_How would Sherlock and I go with this long-term thing,_ Violet thought to herself briefly.

Justin and Virginia spoke to Violet about independent film making, crowd funding, film distribution and the film festival circuit. Violet found it all so fascinating, opening a whole world to her which she found far more exhilarating than working on a big-budget, studio funded project, where she was so far removed from the process.

"And we thought we'd sweeten the deal," Virginia added, smiling. "You must try the cannolis."

"This is our favourite pasticceria. We always order the rainbow cake for our daughter's birthday. She's twenty-three now and still not sick of it!" commented Justin.

_What a lovely, charming, family-oriented couple,_ thought Violet.

Justin discussed the story-line with Violet, and gave her the extracts of the script she would need that week for filming the handful of scenes they required for marketing purposes.

"When we have the entire script finalised perhaps you could let your partner read it? See what a real detective thinks?" Virginia suggested. "He may be able to offer some invaluable insights."

_Invaluable insults, more likely,_ thought Violet. But to Virginia she replied, "I'm sure Sherlock would love to read it."

Virginia invited Violet to an off-Broadway play in the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Theatre the following evening, and wondered if she'd like to sit in on one of their drama school classes with special guest teacher Sonny Labarca. Violet almost wet herself with excitement, but try to stay composed on the surface.

_What a wonderful city,_ Violet thought. _I wish Sherlock was here._

* * *

Sherlock met private investigator Alexandre Bouisson at the foyer of the hotel Lacroix in the early afternoon. The young French detective had been keeping a close eye on Irene Adler's movements on behalf of the British Government for the better part of a year, when he had suddenly lost her.

"This was her home away from home," Bouisson informed Sherlock, his English spoken with only a mild French accent.

"Seems a bit extravagant even for a high class hooker," Sherlock remarked, eyeing the decor of the hotel's lobby.

Bouisson laughed. "No, I don't mean the hotel. I was referring to the Marais district as you shall see. I merely brought you here as this hotel was her last residence when she disappeared. She was meeting a prominent U.S. senator here a week before she went missing. I thought you may like to interview the staff, as I already have."

Sherlock frowned. He was hoping Bouisson would only act as a translator, not give advice on how he may like to conduct his investigation.

"And the senator," Sherlock asked, "has he returned to the U.S.?"

Bouisson gave a wry smile. "She," he corrected Sherlock. "Le Marais. Are you not familiar with this area?"

Sherlock replied, "The only area of Paris with which I am familiar is the Bois de Boulonge."

When Bouisson raised his eyebrows at him, Sherlock hastily added, "Not for the reasons you think."

"The Marais district is growing in popularity with the gay community - gay cafes, massage parlors, novelty shops. That's why Madamoiselle Adler adored it so much. And this hotel was a favourite rendezvous for many of Adler's high profile clients."

"Actually I'm not interested in the U.S. Senators, or British Ministers or the Directeur Général de la Police Nationale, Bouisson. I've already read her file. I'd much rather find out about her liaisons with persons of no apparent significance."

"Ah," replied Bouisson, smiling slyly. "Then you must meet me much later this evening, Monsieur Holmes. And do you have..." his eyes took in Sherlock's usual attire, "...anything more casual? Jeans perhaps?"

"Why?" asked Sherlock.

"To visit the La Batofar of course."

"What for?"

"The English word is the same in French - a rave."

_Excellent_, thought Sherlock with trepidation. _An invitation to a rave party by a young, gay French private investigator who wants me in jeans._

_Violet would love it here._

* * *

Violet finally convinced Polly she was superfluous after she'd had the meeting with the Fordham Avenue Talent Agency, who would represent her while she was working for U.S-based production houses. Polly got the hint, and flew back to London that evening, leaving Violet to attend the theatre along with Justin, Virginia, their daughter Georgia and partner Ryan.

Once back in her apartment, Violet contemplated calling Sherlock. 10pm New York time is... what? 3am London, which is 4am Paris? Dammit. I could wait til midnight. Sherlock would probably be awake by six.

And then, as if by coincidence, her phone rang.

"What are you doing awake?" she asked.

"What are _you_ doing awake?" he repeated.

"It's only eleven o'clock. I just got back from the theatre. An off-Broadway musical."

"I don't know what that means."

"Why are you awake still? What's all that noise? And why does your voice sound all husky?

"From shouting."

"Why were you shouting?"

"Couldn't hear a thing over the music."

"What music? Why are you still awake? Isn't it, like, four in the morning?"

"Four oh three. At a rave. Music is too loud, so I had to shout. Probably didn't help that I'm smoking too."

"Sherlock! A rave? Smoking? What are you? A nineteen year old British au pair?"

Sherlock laughed into the phone. "No, this is all in the line of work. I have to interview people, and can only do that through my gay translator. Makes the evening twice as long and twice as confusing."

"Did you say gay?"

"Yes. We went to three rave parties. We're at the last one."

"And Irene Adler?"

"I'm just taking a piss before going back in. Thought I'd ring to say I love you!"

"Sherlock?"

"Right. I'm going to...do something."

"What?"

"More interviews."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know. My brain is shutting down."

"Sherlock? Irene Adler?"

"Need sleep. Good night, Violet!"

"Sherlock?"

* * *

The meeting with Etienne-Lumiere Studios took place in a pizzeria and trattoria restaurant in Queens faciliated by Bre Naunton, Violet's new American rep.

_There goes the diet, _thought Violet, eyeing the menu.

Bre chatted to Violet about great places to eat in Queens as they waited for the studio exec. Then she recounted all of the dates she had been on, her almost-celebrity dates, hinting there were one or two famous names among them. Violet found her to be slightly un-professional. _Excellent_, thought Violet. _I'm a noob, so the agency has given me their worst representative._

Then the conversation turned to the action movie, and their meeting with the C.O.O.

"You know he's the money behind the movies?" Bre began, sipping her wine, which Violet eyed with longing.

"Is he?" Violet queried. "I'm not really familiar with the organisational structure."

"Well, basically he has nothing to do with making or greenlighting anything. He didn't rise through the Lumiere ranks by making movies. He kinda side-stepped in, waving dollar bills at everyone. Why he wants to meet with you is beyond me, no offence. He's kinda cute though."

"Oh," thought Violet, feeling slightly worried and ignoring the 'cute' comment. "Is it a contractual thing?"

Justin and Virginia of Splendor Pictures thought they ought to commence their campaign for funding as soon as possible using Violet's name, before Violet signed with Etienne-Lumiere, in case there was a clause in her contract preventing her from promoting any other product once the big studio marketing machine was underway.

"I have no idea. But he's keen, and he doesn't sound ominous on the phone. Don't worry. I may be making something out of nothing. Oh here he comes!"

Bre indicated a young man, wearing an expensive grey suit with a dark jacket - the trendy sort with no lapels. His dark hair was slicked back, and his grin broadened when he spied Violet.

Violet and Bre stood up. Bre pulled her top down slightly, revealing a bit of cleavage. _He seems a bit young to be a studio exec,_ Violet thought nervously.

"Violet Hunter, this is Mister Ja-"

"No, no, not so formal," he said in his charming Irish accent. "Please call me Jim. Jim Moriarty."

END OF PART TWO  
~o0O0o~

* * *

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**A/N:** Oooh, yes I did! You saw that coming, right?

Don't forget: reviews=love !  
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	48. Chapter 48: A brief glimpse

**Interlude - A Small Peek into the Future**

[ Fast forward: 8 months]

John tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, the next few hours running through his head: Get Sherlock, head towards Mycroft's people, side entrance, car, Baker Street, Violet. Good. Go home, shower, dinner at Mary's parents'.

"They won't be long," the bored desk sergeant called out to John.

John turned his back on the counter and surveyed the small area which served as a waiting room. It was far too early for the regular punters, whoever they were. The ones who had worn thin the fabric on the one sofa, and caused the vinyl to tatter and fray on the collection of single chairs along one wall. Aside from the officer, John was alone in the inner city police station.

He yawned. Five in the morning was far too early for him, not Sherlock though. He probably would've been up earlier, if he managed to sleep at all. Yes, 5am was a good time to avoid the crowds and press, although word had got around and there was a small but growing crowd outside. Maybe they had slept there, too?

He looked up as Sherlock walked down the corridor, preceded by a uniformed constable. _Released on bail with conditions_, John thought. _Hope he can stick to them. They'd probably do his head in._

"Sign," the desk sergeant called out to Sherlock as he approached the counter.

John bit back his first impulse to ask Sherlock how he was, so he just stated, "Violet's waiting at Baker Street. Too many fans outside."

"Fans?" queried Sherlock, as he filled in the form, then rifled through the bag containing his belongings.

"Supporters," John added, smiling wanly at Sherlock. "They're wearing, uh, badges with lovehearts and ...er... the words 'Free Sherlock!'"

Sherlock frowned as he began placing his possessions one at a time into his coat pockets as they started along the corridor leading to the entrance. John's eye caught sight of the small velvet green box Sherlock paused to turn over in his hand.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

Sherlock smiled weakly. "Yes it is."

"So you had it...at the time of..."

"Yes, John."

"Are you going to..."

The question hung in the air as Sherlock stopped walking. John paused.

"If I go to prison, John, then no. A murder conviction carries a mandatory life sentence. Here," he said, holding out the box to John. "Keep it for me."

"But Sherlock..." John started to protest, thinking the trial could be months away. _But of course he's gonna get off. Of course he will._

"No, John. Please. Hold it for me. I don't want it at the flat. Violet might find it. I may ask for it back some day."

.

* * *

**A/N: **Like the title suggests: a brief glimpse into what I've got going on for you in the future. A teensy one. Normal service will resume in the next chapter. Is this because I'm evil or premenstrual?

Don't forget: reviews=love, hate or confusion!


	49. Chapter 49

**Special note: **Here we are - Part 3! I love love love that you are still here with me, 48 chapters later! How wonderful you are! I've just put the kettle on. Now would you like a tim tam to go with your cuppa?

* * *

~ PART THREE ~

**Chapter 49**

"No, stay there. I'll be back tomorrow," Sherlock advised Violet on the phone.

He had called from Brussels to wish her a good night, and she had wanted to join him there. Violet had returned from New York to an empty flat. Sherlock was still in Europe. Having no luck finding Irene Adler in Paris, he had tracked her to Belgium.

Violet was feeling deflated. She had all sorts of exciting news to tell Sherlock, not that he would've been impressed. Instead, she invited Mandi over for a girls' night in (which ended up being a sleepover, with Mandi using Violet's old bedroom upstairs). She also offered Mandi the job of being her personal assistant. She then had to reassure Mrs Hudson that no, no one was being murdered upstairs. Mandi was just very over-excited.

They had a few drinks to celebrate. Violet only had three. Mandi had goodness knows how many.

The following evening Sherlock called again to say he was in Berlin and no, don't join him, he'll be back in London tomorrow.

After a week of 'tomorrows' Sherlock had managed to hop around most of western Europe's popular cities, taking in the rave parties in each, with no further leads on Adler. He'd reached a dead end. Her trail had gone cold.

* * *

"Okay, scratch that interview then. Don't worry, I'll get the hang of who's from a legitimate media outlet and who's a sixteen year old teenage boy on a dare from his mates."

Mandi frowned as she scrolled through Violet's diary on her ipad. "Now this sounds interesting - how would you like to be a guest DJ at a Manchester nightclub? It's called Club Avira and..."

"No," Violet said immediately.

"Oh no, that's over two months old. Why did they give me that one? Maybe it's an open invitation?"

"Not interested," Violet said more forcefully. _Sebastian Moran's club? No fucking way!_

"Okay. Well, your schedule is quite light on while you're in London for the month. Just the audio book, and that evening talk show with the Scottish guy."

"Good. That'll give me more time with Sherlock."

"And don't forget the first episode of _Catherine Hilderness _on Wednesday. You may get more requests for interviews after that. Plus they're announcing your role in _Rise of the Five_ early next week so everyone'll be all over you for that. Were you going to invite your friends over to watch _Catherine Hilderness _with us, or...?"

"If Sherlock's back by then, no. But if he's still away chasing that dominatrix all around Europe then yes."

Violet had filled Mandi in on Sherlock's case, at least the subject of his case, to which Mandi responded with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, especially after viewing Irene Adler's website.

"Right, well what should I put on the invitations then? To be confirmed, pending sighting of high class whore?"

"Very funny, Mandi. We're not sending out invitations! You're such a dag!"

"Well please invite Matt...but not his partner."

"Mandi! What about Gavin?"

"Oh, Gavin's Gavin," Mandi said, slightly annoyed. "Ooh, turn this one up - it's my fave!"

Violet reached over for the remote control and increased the volume on the stereo. Then she strolled over to the living room door and shut it. Mrs Hudson wouldn't appreciate this kind of music being cranked up in Sherlock's flat at this time of night.

Mandi and Violet were sitting on the couch, with Violet flicking through her _Rise of the Five _script. Not that there was much dialogue to remember. For a movie running for 143 minutes it was a surprisingly small script. _Action movie, _remember Violet. _More action, less dialogue._ She couldn't wait to see the final script for the detective movie.

"Now, did you want me to set up an appointment with that casting director...oh, what was her name?"

"Francine Bodehouse. Yep, that would be good."

Mandi typed the information into her To Do list. "I don't see why you don't just say yes. I mean, sex with Alex Breville..."

"Yeah, thanks Mandi. I have a boyfriend don't forget. And it depends when it is. I think I'm not going to be available until March next year."

"Well there's that bit around Christmas and New Year," Mandi said thoughtfully, running her eyes over the screen.

"Yes, thank you for trying to fill in my schedule for every minute of the day. Christmas and New Year are definitely out - not that anyone does any kind of film work over that period."

_I wonder what Sherlock and I will do for Christmas? _He did say to remind him to invite her to his family Christmas dinner, or was he just saying that conversationally to make a point, comparing his family gatherings to hers?

Mandi was silent for a few seconds, before she began to sing along to the music.

"Oh, look at this!" Violet showed her script to Mandi, who quickly scanned the page.

"What does that mean?" Mandi asked excitedly. "Is that a kiss? Are they kissing?"

"I don't know. I don't think they want any kind of romance in this, I mean Apis flirts with every female he ever comes across. I think there's meant to be some kind of chemistry there but..."

"I'll die if you get to kiss Joseph Irkhardt. Do it anyway, and say you misinterpreted the script!"

"Kiss whom?" said a familiar baritone voice from the doorway.

"Sherlock!"

Violet leapt up from the couch as Sherlock plonked his suitcase on the ground and held out his arms to her.

* * *

Mandi had left, finally. It was well after midnight, and Sherlock, being slightly dishevelled from travel, thought he'd have a shower before joining Violet in bed. And Violet, being Violet and so very impatient at not having Sherlock for almost two whole weeks, decided to join him in the shower.

"What took you so long?" he asked, as Violet entered the bathroom after having shed her clothing in the bedroom.

"I was waiting for an invitation," she replied, stepping into the already cramped shower stall.

"Since when do you need an invitation? Just let me rinse this out," he said.

"Let me," Violet insisted as Sherlock bowed his head a little to allow Violet to reach up.

She ran her hands through Sherlock's curls until the water ran clear. Sherlock smirked as she did this.

"Conditioner?" Violet asked.

"No, that'll make my hair go all fluffy."

Violet laughed. "That's right."

"Come here," Sherlock whispered, pulling Violet into a tight embrace.

Violet looked down while the water pelted onto her head. Sherlock pushed the shower nozzle upwards slightly so Violet could look up at him.

"I missed you," he whispered, bending his head and kissing her.

"I missed you more," Violet said, in between wet kisses.

"How much more?" Sherlock murmured in her ear before nibbling her neck.

"This much," was the reply from somewhere in the vicinity of Sherlock's nether regions.

"Violet," Sherlock whispered, holding onto the top of the shower screen with one hand, while he gently caressed the nape of Violet's neck with the other.

_Mmm_, he thought. _Perhaps I could have used a distraction now and again in between raves._

Then he made the same mistake he nearly always did. He sighed, tilting his head back, crashing it into shampoo holder. And he saw it all in slow motion: the containers of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel all tumbling out. He quickly grasped Violet by the back of her head and pulled her away from him as the containers crashed into her shoulder.

"Ow! What the fuck!" Violet yelled.

Sherlock helped her to her feet.

"I fuckin' hate shower sex!" she yelled, storming out of the shower stall.

Sherlock chuckled and turned the taps off. Violet flung a towel at him as he stepped out.

"You pulled my hair!"

"Sorry, self-preservation. Didn't want you to clamp down."

"The word 'Ow' starts with an 'O'."

"Yeah, but you might have said something else."

"Like what? Motherfucker? No, there's no teeth in that. Hmm. Need a word starting with the letter 't'. I don't know any cuss words that start with a 't' Sherlock. Do you? I don't think you were in any real danger there."

Sherlock wrapped his towel around Violet and pulled her closer. "Start again?"

"Yes," Violet sulked.

Sherlock pulled his towel up and vigorously rubbed it in Violet's hair to dry it a tad. Then Violet wiped Sherlock's chest with her towel.

"I think my chest is dry now," he said as she kept rubbing her towel over him.

"Is it?" she smirked.

"Come on," he said playfully. Sherlock pulled Violet into his bedroom. They stood next to the bed kissing for a while.

"What took you so long?" Violet murmured as Sherlock nibbled and kissed at her neck.

"When?" he gasped in reply.

"When you were abroad."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing, and took Violet's face in his hands. He pressed his forehead against hers and said, "Are we talking about this now?"

"I just missed you," she whispered back. "I didn't think you'd ever come back."

"Ever? That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"It just felt like it," Violet answered in a small voice.

"Violet," Sherlock sighed, "We're going to be fine."

"Please just come for a little bit. Please?"

"Violet, what is it?"

"Just come to Australia - for a small, small visit. A tiny visit. Just in the middle of my seven weeks there. To break it up. Please Sherlock?"

Sherlock breathed out. _How bad could it be? Pretty bad._

"A small..."

"Yes!" Violet exclaimed emotionally, and she showered him with kisses.

Sherlock pulled her down onto the bed where their kisses became longer and deeper. They started caressing each other, savoring the touch and taste of one another with each kiss, glide of the hand and flick of their tongues.

"Why didn't you come to Stockholm?" he whispered, while kissing along Violet's midriff.

Violet's thoughts were completely elsewhere, so she didn't quite catch what Sherlock had asked.

"What?" she gasped, as Sherlock's attention continued lower.

Sherlock lifted his head. "I said-"

"Shh," Violet almost sighed. "Don't stop." She gently pushed his head down again to encourage him to continue. Her whole body was alight and tingling in expectation. They were not stopping to have a conversation now!

Sherlock chuckled, and focussed his attention once more to reducing Violet to a quivering mess.

* * *

"Sorry, you were talking about some old studio producer propositioning you in New York, before I interrupted you for my dose of morning sex?" Sherlock prompted over breakfast.

"Oh...firstly, he's not old. And secondly, he's not a producer."

"Then what is he? Soon-to-be-dead?"

"Very funny. He's the Chief Operating Officer. And the proposal was just a hint really. Something they may have in mind for me in the future."

"Not pornography."

"Sherlock, why do I even bother talking to you anymore."

"Sorry Violet!" he interjected hastily, lest she erupt. "You would make a very bad porno star," he added, which probably didn't help matters.

Violet sighed. "He hinted at a five year - five movie deal. Perhaps. Probably. Depends on how I go in _Rise of the Five._"

"Perhaps? Probably? Why did he even meet with you then?"

"A 'welcome to the studio' greeting I think."

"More like a 'welcome to...'" and when he took in Violet's angry face he finished with "...New York ... thing."

Violet eyed him suspiciously. "It was a nice lunch anyway."

"Good," Sherlock replied, raising his newspaper once more. "And his name was?" Sherlock opened the file resting on top of the Violet Vault stored in his Mind Palace. The file which was titled 'Seedy Show Biz Types'. It already held the names Damien Oakeshott and Justin Behme, despite what Mycroft had told him about them.

"Jim."

"Jim?" Sherlock lowered his paper.

"Jim Moriarty."

"Jim Moriarty," Sherlock repeated, mentally typing the name into the file. "Good." _Will research him later,_ Sherlock thought.

After a few minutes silence, Violet spoke again. "Do you know what today is?

"Tuesday," he replied after glancing at the top of his newspaper.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean it's one year ago today that I moved in to Baker Street."

"Oh. Really," he responded with a tad more enthusiasm than he actually felt.

"Do you remember meeting me for the first time?" Violet asked with a hopeful expression on her face.

Sherlock put his paper down. "Yes, you were jogging and got a cramp."

"No."

He frowned. "Having a fight with Nick outside on the pavement?"

"No, Sherlock," Violet replied, growing annoyed.

"Crying somewhere?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"No!" Violet exclaimed, getting upset.

Sherlock smirked and said gently, "You were having tea with Mrs Hudson. Your hair was blonde and you were showing way too much cleavage."

"I was not!"

"No, you're right. I only saw that because I was standing over you, and I happened to glance down."

"Pervert. You didn't even acknowledge me," scolded Violet, taking a bite of her toast.

"I was playing it cool," Sherlock remarked, grinning at her.

"You were playing it arrogant."

"Yes and then you broke into my flat and rifled through my things."

"You challenged me to find the internet password in your flat. The door was open."

"It's a wonder you didn't sneak into my bedroom."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I lay on your bed and thought naughty things about you."

"And perhaps I broke into your rooms one day and lay down on your bed, having sexual fantasies about you, while you were out jogging."

"Did you?"

Sherlock chuckled.

"Sherlock!"

"Of course I didn't. I was far too busy with my work to worry about things like women and dating, much less some floozie who'd move in upstairs."

He took a sip of his coffee and braved a glance at Violet.

"Until Thursday night rolled around."

"Good old Thursday nights. How I miss you," Sherlock commented with mock fondness.

"I'm ignoring that. So when did you get a hard on for me?" she asked mischievously.

"Did you notice?" Sherlock asked, looking worried.

"Notice? Notice when?" Violet thought she was just talking generally.

"Ah. Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Violet's jaw dropped and she rose from her chair. "Sherlock! Did you get an erection in my presence one day?"

Violet walked around to Sherlock's side of the living room table where they were breakfasting.

"Violet, no! Don't ask. It's embarrassing."

Sherlock was fuming. How did he manage that little slip up? Yes it was embarrassing. They weren't together then. He'd masturbated in the shower to get rid of it, while she was in the living room.

"Oh please?" she whispered, bending down and wrapping her arms around his neck. "It's okay now. I'm your girlfriend."

"Yes, and because _you're_ my girlfriend that's what makes it so embarrassing."

Violet straightened up. "What do you mean 'because _I'm_ your girlfriend'?"

"Because you like to laugh at me."

"Oh Sherlock!"

She kissed his head, then squeezed in between him and the table to sit on his lap. "I promise I won't laugh," she whispered and gave him light kisses all over his face.

Sherlock sighed. He was always going to give in to her. That's how it worked. His defences were down. And he loved her, don't forget that little thing.

"It was during that missing girl case...what's-her-name with that teacher."

"Francis and Matthew?"

"Oh, yes I forgot you were on a first name basis with the perpetrator."

"You got a hard on for me?"

Violet smiled broadly and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock returned her gaze, trying on his cold and emotionless stare under which most people faltered. Well, most except Violet, and also irritatingly, John.

Sherlock's stare not only failed to have the desired effect on Violet, she smiled even more, then closed the gap between them, teasing a kiss from his lips.

"Where were we?" she whispered.

"We're right here. I'm getting a hard on for you now," Sherlock's gravelly voice spoke in her ear before he nibbled it.

"So!" Violet said, standing suddenly and leaving Sherlock feeling confused. "Where was I in this little wet dream of yours?"

"It wasn't a dream," Sherlock replied, feeling annoyed. "You were lying on the couch reading that pathetic diary."

"Oh? Was I?"

Violet made her way over to the couch and sat down. Sherlock turned in his chair to watch her.

"I was sitting here reading?"

"You were lying down. On your stomach."

Sherlock stood up and walked over to the couch as Violet lay down on her tummy and looked back at him seductively. "Like this?"

Sherlock smirked and put his hands in his pockets. "You arms were bent in front of you, holding the diary, lifting your breasts slightly off the couch so I could just make them out."

"And where were you?" Violet asked, raising herself up on her elbows.

"I was sitting about here, in my chair," Sherlock answered, indicating the floor area where he had dragged his armchair that night so he could examine the wall of Francis Carfax case memorabilia.

"That's right," Violet commented, remembering Sherlock sitting there quietly, deep in thought. She giggled. Deep in thought about her, apparently.

"And I turned to glance at you, and your breasts were just...there," he said, waving his hand at Violet.

She sat up again, laughing. "Yes, they do that don't they? And then what..."

She stopped suddenly when a thought popped into her head. Sherlock groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming next. Violet stood up.

"And then you had a shower!" she exclaimed with glee. "A shower! Oh, Sherlock!"

She walked over to hug him, to which he replied irritably, "Go away!"

She hugged him anyway. "Sherlock, you naughty boy!"

* * *

"I'll bring the wine in. You get your laptop."

Sherlock drooped his shoulders. Wine sounded appealing. Curling up next to Violet on his bed even more so. Watching the first episode of Catherine Hilderness online, ah, not so much.

"Have you found it?" Violet asked, entering Sherlock's bedroom with the bottle of red and two wine glasses.

Sherlock was sitting up in his pyjamas, his computer in his lap. He was researching raves around London.

"Hmmm?" he asked, not looking up.

"Come on, stop whatever you're doing," Violet said, placing a wine glass on the bedside table nearest Sherlock, and filling it with wine. "We are so doing this."

Sherlock sighed and moved the computer to the end of the bed, so they could lie in front of it. Violet was pouring herself a glass, took a sip, then placed the glass down on the bedside table on the other side of the bed along with the wine bottle.

"Found it?" she asked again.

"Give me a minute," Sherlock muttered, stretching out across the bed and tapping away at the computer. _Where's that iplayer thing_... "Here it is: _Catherine Hilderness,_ episode one, starring some old has-been woman, Sir Old Crusty Guy and the voluptuous...hey, why isn't your name there?"

"Because I'm not the star."

"Then I'm not watching it," Sherlock said in mock dissatisfaction, rolling onto his back.

Violet moved from her position which was sitting up leaning against the headboard, and leant over Sherlock to click on **Watch Now.**

"Hang on a minute," Sherlock said, sitting up.

"Shh!" hissed Violet.

"It hasn't started yet," Sherlock muttered. He reached for his wine glass, drank the entire contents of it then said to Violet, "Where's the bottle?"

"Shh!"

Sherlock rose from the bed, walked around to the other side, and poured himself a second glass. He stood behind Violet and took another swig.

"Sit down! You're missing it!"

"I've missed nothing except the wheels of a carriage splashing through a mud puddle. It's been going for ten minutes."

"It's been going for ten seconds. Sit down. What are you doing?" Violet eyed Sherlock's empty glass as he poured himself a third. "You're so disrespectful."

"What? Why? You said we had to watch it together. You didn't say I had to be completely sober."

"Lie down. We were going to cuddle, remember?" Violet said, patting the space on the bed between herself and the computer where Sherlock had been lying before.

"I thought cuddle was a euphemism for sex," he murmured under his breath as he lay down in front of Violet. He rested on his back with his head turned to face the screen, so Violet could lie next to him, with her head on his chest.

"Oh God," Sherlock said in distaste as the older Catherine Hilderness regaled her grandchildren with the story of her youth.

"There's me!" Violet pointed to the screen unnecessarily.

"Nice dress. When do you show your corset-thingy?"

"Shh! You're missing the dialogue."

"Oh, dialogue's dull," he breathed out, closing his eyes. "Wake me up for the naughty bits."

"Sherlock!"

"Mmm? So soon?"

He opened his eyes again.

"No, you're missing important facts. They'll come in handy later."

"Later for what?"

"For what is to be revealed. Think of it as a mystery. A case."

Sherlock sighed. "Who's that guy?"

"A suitor."

"A suit of what?"

"Shh!"

"Can't I ask questions?"

"Sensible ones."

"Who's that guy?" he asked again.

"He's trying to get on with her, okay? If you were paying attention you wouldn't have to ask such obvious questions."

"Yes, but the way in which you answer me might reveal a clue I could use for later."

"It's not me who's giving the clues. It's the show."

"Yes, but you're in the know. So I'd rather interrogate you. Much more efficient."

"Shh!"

Sherlock was silent again for a full twenty seconds. "Who's that woman?"

Violet sighed. "That's Catherine when she's about thirty."

"Oh God," Sherlock scoffed. "And who's that guy?"

"For fuck's sake, Sherlock! Just let the episode unravel the plot to you in its own way!"

"Unravel," Sherlock muttered. "Can you pass me my wine glass please beautiful lady?"

"Shh!"

"Wine."

"Shh!"

"Just pause it for a second," Sherlock said, reaching over and pressing the pause button.

"What?"

"Need a refill."

"Sherlock, stay!"

Violet sat up and reached back for Sherlock's glass. "One sip," she commanded him, when he half sat up. He took a sip and passed the glass back to Violet then said, "Pass me a couple of pillows, please."

"As long as you stay awake," Violet replied, handing Sherlock one pillow.

"Oh, I'm a concentrating machine at the moment. I'm so into this. Mr Marple is one lucky man. He's going to have his hand up her dress in no time."

"There's no Mr Marple! What are you on about?"

"Oh no, I'm thinking about all those other period dramas I watch. I'm getting my mini-series' mixed up," he remarked with sarcasm.

"Asshole. Press play please and be quiet for the next hour and twenty minutes."

"Hour and twenty minutes!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Isn't it a TV show, like Regency Road? Surely it only goes for 45 minutes!"

"No, it's a mini-series. Each episode is like a mini-movie. In this case 90 minutes.

"God help me," Sherlock said exasperatedly, pulling the pillow out from under his head and placing it on his face.

Violet looked at him for a moment, thinking about pressing the pillow down hard onto his face, thus smothering him. Then she had another, less homicidal idea.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, quickly lifting the pillow from his face.

Violet had started seductively rubbing the outside of his pyjamas, from his thigh to his groin.

"Just helping you relax," Violet said softly.

"Mmm, that's nice," Sherlock murmured, placing the pillow back under his head, and closing his eyes. "Bit more to the left."

Violet stopped what she was doing, reached over, and pressed Play.

Sherlock opened one eye. "Violet?"

"Oh, you'll get more...about every twenty minutes or so that you watch of this."

Sherlock looked at Violet, a pained expression on his face. "But that... that's..."

"Shh! You're missing it again!"

Sherlock watched the screen in silence again, for about ten seconds.

"Now I've got an erection while watching Granny Hilderness."

"Shh!"

"Who's that guy?"

"He's the fucking annoying detective who gets murdered by his girlfriend."

"What? Where?"

"Just shh."

Then Violet had another idea. "Just keep watching. The editors said there was a scene they missed and when I bend down you can just make out one of my nipples. They're hoping no-one will catch it."

"Where?" Sherlock asked, sitting up, his brow furrowed.

He remained that way for a full seventeen minutes, while Violet moved back to rest against the headboard, sipping her wine and enjoying the show in silence. Eventually Sherlock hit pause and turned around to Violet.

"Do you remember roughly when?" he asked, his voice deadly serious. "I mean, how many times did you have to bend down. Just...just close your eyes. Try to visualise _exactly_ where you were, what dialogue you were speaking. Go on..."

Violet was trying to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing.

"Go on, Violet. Close your eyes," he said, moving closer to her.

Violet closed her eyes as Sherlock put his hands on either side of her face.

Violet giggled. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to maximise your visual memory," he replied.

"What?" Violet laughed.

"Shh, Violet. The average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"Oh, sorry," she said opening her eyes and composing herself, "I must be the other forty-eight percent."

Sherlock was still holding Violet's face and frowning at her, prompting her to lean in and kiss him. She thought they were getting somewhere when Sherlock leant back and said, "You mean thirty-eight percent."

He sat back and turned once more to the laptop, pressing Play. Violet took another sip of her wine. She prodded Sherlock with her foot, feeling a tad mischievous now.

"Stop it," he said, not turning around.

"It's time for your massage," she called out invitingly.

"Not now, Violet. I'm studying this. It could turn out quite embarrassing for you, especially if it ends up on the internet."

Violet felt thoroughly guilty now for deliberately misleading Sherlock. All right, blatantly lying.

After ten more minutes, Sherlock rearranged himself on the bed, lying on his stomach facing the computer, fingers poised to hit the pause button should the offending scene arise.

Violet finished her wine and poured herself another. She wondered if Sherlock was actually listening to the dialogue, or if he was just following Violet's/the young Catherine's cleavage with his eyes.

"Oh, I love this scene," Violet commented as the characters cavorted in a merry dance.

She put her wine glass down, then draped herself over Sherlock's back, resting her chin on her hands.

"Oh, you _can_ dance properly," Sherlock remarked.

"You've danced with me heaps. What are you talking about?" Violet complained.

"That was me leading you around the dance floor. I'm the skillful one."

Violet thumped his back lightly.

They watched in silence for another twenty minutes or so, with Violet sitting up once to finish her wine. She felt sleepy as she lay back down cuddling Sherlock's back. Feeling slightly tipsy, and just a little bit amorous, she slid her hand under Sherlock's pyjama shirt, caressing his back.

"Mmm," he responded. "Is it break time?"

"If you want it to be."

"No, we've got more pressing matters right now. Your nipple."

He turned back to the screen as Violet sat up feeling annoyed with herself and her stupid lie. She watched the episode for a bit longer, then lay upon Sherlock once more and ran her hand under his shirt, tracing lines down his back.

"Violet," he warned.

Violet sighed, so Sherlock slowly rolled, making Violet move off him, then he sat up.

"Here," he said, moving up the bed. He sat at the head of the bed as Violet had done earlier, leaning against the headboard. He made a V with his legs. "Sit here and lean against me."

Once Violet was sitting comfortably against Sherlock, he whispered in her ear, "Tell me when to stop."

_Stop what?_ Violet thought, watching the screen for some offending scene he could press Pause on, but what he meant became evident when he slipped his hand inside Violet's pyjama shorts. Violet closed her eyes, forgetting the mini-series for now. _I know this scene anyway,_ she reasoned. _We spent two days on it._

She sighed.

Sherlock kept monitoring the episode and kept his hand busy at the same time.

_There's something wrong with this scenario, _he thought. Why is he the one watching the boring period piece and Violet is getting her rocks off. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Touch me," he whispered into her ear.

"Mmm," she murmured.

They rearranged themselves slightly, so Violet could get access to the front of Sherlock's pjs too.

Sherlock relaxed into it. He watched the show through slitted eyes. _Ah, Violet. Isn't this how everybody should be watching?_ thought Sherlock. _Much more...oh, get off you horrid woman. You're ruining it for me. Oh, fuckin' hell. A child. _"Hang on, Violet."

They disengaged as Sherlock reached forward to press Pause. He also shut the lid.

"Look, let's just..." Violet began saying, pulling her pyjama top off over her head.

"I think so too," Sherlock agreed, removing his entire ensemble.

Before he'd even stretched out across the top of the bed, Violet was upon him, having also removed her pyjama bottoms.

What happened was quick and completely necessary, according to Sherlock. In fact all period dramas should be watched interspersed with canoodling, fondling and sex of the oral kind with a consenting partner of your choice. The viewer warnings at the beginning of each episode should state that explicitly.

_WARNING: Viewer discretion advised. May contain scenes of old or ugly people which could put a damper on your ability to get aroused. Except for the young Catherine Hilderness. She's a bit all right. This show should be paused every now and then to give you enough time to rekindle the passion between you and your partner._

"Is the computer still there?" Violet asked breathlessly from beneath Sherlock as he collapsed on top of her.

He tilted his head to check. "Just."

He rolled off Violet and lay beside her, also breathing heavily.

"That thing you did with your..." he waved his hand in the air.

"Just for you," Violet replied. She turned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Can I order that again for episode two?"

"You may. As long as I get some loving back."

"Goes without saying."

Sherlock leant over the side of the bed and fumbled around for his pyjama bottoms. He stepped into them and then poured them both another glass of wine. Violet found her sleepwear and put them on as Sherlock set up his laptop once more. _Without being asked,_ thought Violet.

Violet lay on her side, as Sherlock stretched out behind her, cradling Violet in his arms and once more pressed Play. They watched in relative silence now that they were both satiated by sex and mellowed by wine.

"Why won't she marry him?" Sherlock asked during an emotional scene, his lips brushing the top of Violet's head.

"You'll find out," Violet whispered.

Sherlock's fingers interlocked Violet's as she asked, "Is that how I look when I'm upset with you?"

"No, you look sadder in real life."

"Watch what happens here."

"Is this a clue?"

"It's important."

"Oh," commented Sherlock in disgust. "That's that lecherous old man."

"Mmm."

"Oh, Violet! He's...Violet!" Sherlock called in alarm. "He's touching your breasts!"

"Yes. Through the dress."

"But he's ..." Sherlock held out his hand like a claw in front of Violet's vision. "...touching them with his old man hands."

"Yes."

Sherlock abruptly sat up slightly, so Violet rolled onto her back to look up into his pained face.

"Your poor breasts," he whispered.

"This is why she's scarred for years to come," Violet exlained.

"I'm scarred for years to come," muttered Sherlock lying back down as Violet rolled back to face the computer.

Within minutes the episode was over, ending on the distraught Catherine, dress left in tatters. Violet pressed Stop as Sherlock sighed. Violet rolled onto her back and Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow.

"Thoughts?" Violet prompted.

"You were very convincing."

"Did you think of me, or someone who wasn't me?"

"What's the correct answer?"

"There isn't a correct answer. I'm asking for your impression."

"Well, if she was you, she would've picked up the lamp on the nearby table and brained him," Sherlock replied, smirking.

He bent down to her, and kissed her deeply once more. Then he rose, collected up the laptop to place on a nearby chair, then joined Violet in the bathroom. Violet held out Sherlock's blue toothbrush for him, then put paste on both her brush and his.

"So, no nipple scene then," Sherlock remarked before putting his toothbrush into his mouth.

Violet shook her head as she began brushing. Sherlock then spoke again - an incoherant mumbling as he brushed away. Violet shrugged and frowned at him. He mumbled again, so Violet rinsed and said, "Don't speak when you're brushing your teeth."

Sherlock rinsed his mouth then replied, "It was perfectly clear to me."

"That's because you said it."

They walked back into the bedroom with Sherlock saying, "I said that it's pretty irresponsible of them and they'll open themselves up for a lawsuit because they didn't exercise a reasonable duty of care to prevent the exposure of your nipple and you didn't consent to partial nudity."

"You said all that? How do you even know this stuff?"

Violet climbed into her side of the bed as Sherlock turned the bathroom light out.

"I started doing my research after you asked me how I felt about you simulating sex in a movie."

"Oh."

Sherlock climbed into bed beside Violet.

"So...are you going to get them to pull the next two episodes until they re-edit them?"

"Um..."

Sherlock moved closer to her under the sheets.

"Violet?"

Violet smiled.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. "You lied."

Her grin broadened.

"You lied so I would watch the whole show."

He pulled her closer so that their faces were only inches apart. He continued in a low voice, "So how are you going to get me to watch the last two episodes?"

"It doesn't matter," Violet whispered. "It's more trouble than it's worth trying to make you watch something you have no interest in. You're off the hook. Thank you for watching this one with me anyway."

She closed the gap between them momentarily and kissed him.

"Good night, Sherlock," she murmured, closing her eyes.

"'Night Violet," Sherlock whispered back. He brushed her hair back from her face. _Off the hook,_ he thought.

_How lovely this evening was, _thought Violet sleepily._ At least he tried to understand it in his own way. Gotta love him for that. I wonder if he'll watch the big movies with me. Will we go to a premiere together? Will he travel all over the world with me? Will this get any harder for us?_

_One step at a time, Violet_, she told herself as the thick veil of sleep almost covered her.

"Violet?" Sherlock's whisper roused her slightly.

"Mmm?"

"How does it end?"


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N:** This chapter should push this story to over 200,000 words! Wowee! And thank you, as always, for reading all 200K! Did you notice the Copper Beeches book cover?

* * *

**Chapter 50**

Sherlock's finger was pressed against his ear in an effort to block her out again.

"This one's good," remarked Mandi reading from her ipad. "_'Violet Hunter radiates nineteenth century beauty in the role of the young Catherine, almost eclipsing leading lady Ursula Aldman_...' and this one _'Hunter gives a stand out performance ...'_."

"No, read the bad ones," Violet called from the kitchen.

"No, Violet," Sherlock commented.

"Why not?" she asked, bringing Sherlock his cup of tea.

"You'll spend the rest of the morning swearing."

"No, I won't!"

"I agree with Sherlock," Mandi added.

"I'll read them myself later then," Violet replied, carrying her and Mandi's tea cups through the living room. "Upstairs?" she indicated to Mandi.

They left Sherlock in peace as he sighed and opened up his laptop once more. _I hope Mandi isn't going to visit every morning_, he thought. He didn't think his ears could stand it. Or maybe he'll take to sleeping in.

Sherlock's phone rang at that moment, and he was pleased to see that it was Lestrade. It had been a while since he was last called on by Scotland Yard. He hoped it was a serial killer. He loved those. Always something to look forward to.

Upstairs Mandi was counting the emails she and Violet had received overnight requesting either brief comments or full interviews regarding the airing of the first episode of the period drama.

"I can just email them back with a comment, that would be the easiest. This one, _Hot Now_ magazine want a proper sit-down interview."

"Never heard of them," Violet replied as she folded her washing.

"Just a gossip magazine. They have the best weekly star sign advice I've ever read!"

"Oh Mandi."

"What?"

"I love you."

"I don't know what you're implying by that, Violet Hunter."

"Why don't we hold off any interviews until after the Satis announcement on Monday?"

"Well that's efficient for you, but you'll get more publicity if you feature in the press now then again next week!"

"Is that what I want?" Violet asked, thinking more to herself than wanting Mandi's advice.

"Positive publicity, for your work. Yes, that's a good thing."

Violet continued folding her clothes as Mandi tapped away at her To Do list. She looked up and asked Violet, "Now, if you could just type a couple of sentences I can email back, that will take care of some of the requests."

"I'll dictate, you type," Violet suggested.

Mandi went to reply, but looked past Violet at the door. Violet turned around as Sherlock poked his head in.

"I'm going out," he said.

"Oh, really?" Violet replied, hopping up from her small couch.

Sherlock opened her door wider in order to embrace her. He was already dressed in his blue coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Case," he replied grimly. "Missing teen. The mother suspects her ex may be trying to take their daughter back to Germany. Custody thing, probably, or worse, child sex trade."

"Oh Sherlock, that's awful!" Violet exclaimed.

"Should round up the bastards and castrate the lot of them!" Mandi added, scowling.

Sherlock ignored Mandi and addressed Violet. "So, I don't know how late I'll be."

"Then text me," Violet whispered, and reached up to kiss Sherlock goodbye.

* * *

"I'm not sure if you should be jogging alone," Mandi warned Violet as she emerged from her bedroom dressed in gym gear.

"I do this almost every day, Mandi. Unless you want to accompany me?"

"Oh, no. I hate gyms."

"Plenty of hot guys there?"

"I have Gavin, remember?"

"Like I said..."

"Ooh, you're nasty!"

"Well, it's just a 3km jog to the gym, a workout, then a jog back. And I'm escorted by paparazzi on their bicycles. Couldn't get better security than that!"

"Oh, really?"

"How do you not know this? You're checking online all the time."

"Oh, I did see some of you jogging. I thought they were just old photos."

"That's because I have two sets of the same gym clothes. All the pictures look the same."

"Why would they care if you're jogging?" Mandi asked.

"Ever since Holli Adelaide flashed her breasts while jogging that time, every papp thinks they're gonna get a shot like that."

"She was a slut anyway," concluded Mandi.

"So...I'm going. Are you going to stay here? Or I could meet you for lunch somewhere?"

"No, I'll just go home. I'll ring you if I need to confirm anything with you. I'm thinking of painting my kitchen cupboards."

"You and painting - what is it with that?"

"The same with you and your hair colour."

"Thanks!"

Violet left Mandi to see herself out. As she exited the flat, she noted there were three paparazzi next to their bicycles, scrambling to lift their cameras. Violet smiled and waved, then took off along Baker Street. She heard a crash, and laughter behind her. Turning to look she noticed that one of the papps, a young man, had fallen off his bike, the rear tyre at an odd angle. The older papps were laughing at him as they mounted their bikes after Violet.

Violet felt sorry for the young man. She thought the paparazzi were all comrades. _Probably not, I guess. They all hang out together, but really they're competing for the best shot. Should I stop and let him catch up? And do what, while I'm waiting?_

She sighed and kept going.

Violet worked on her upper body today, her mind on the training she would receive in Australia.

_Australia._

_So far away. _

She was comforted by the fact that Mandi was going to accompany her. It wasn't that Violet wouldn't be distracted by the busy-ness of filming; it was in her down time, her free time, that she would feel lost, and feel the ache for her familiar surroundings and of course Sherlock.

Her feelings for Sherlock consumed every part of her body and mind. She couldn't get enough of him; demanded more from him. Could she ever be satisfied?

She took her frustrations out on her workout and duly punished her body. _I'm going to feel this tomorrow_, she reflected as she gulped down her water and prepared to jog back home.

_I wonder if that young paparazzo made it to the gym?_

He was there, standing on the opposite side of the lane that lead to the fitness centre from where the older men stood. He didn't have his bike with him and was leaning against the wall. Violet gave him a broad smile as he snapped away and she ignored the other two as she took off in the direction of Baker Street.

_The poor man. Is he going to limp all the way back to Baker Street?_

"Don't mind me, Mrs Hudson," Violet said, peering through the gap in the landlady's sitting room curtains upon her return to the flat.

"Oh, them. They're so annoying! I said what you told me to say, Violet, that I'm just the landlady and you and Sherlock keep to yourselves. But they're so persistent!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson. Thanks for doing that."

Violet saw that the first two cyclists had left, and the young man finally came into view, limping towards his discarded bike.

"Back in a minute," Violet muttered.

She went back out onto the street, and crossed the road where she found the young man kneeling down in front of his bicycle, examining the wheel.

"Can you fix it?" Violet asked.

The man looked up in surprise. "Ah..." he began, not really knowing what else to say.

"Are you okay? You were limping."

"I'm..."

"You should probably put it up, and ice it. Perhaps following me to the gym wasn't a good idea."

"No."

"What's your name? I'm Violet," Violet said, smiling and extending her hand.

"Um..I know that."

"Oh, of course."

"Billy," he replied grasping Violet's hand in his.

"Nice to meet you. Did it just fall off?" Violet asked, indicating the wheel.

"Nah, those fuckers ... ah.. excuse me language. They've got it in fer me. Think I'm hangin' round their turf. They loosened it, probably when I was talking on me phone to me girl."

"What assholes!"

Billy smiled. "No matter. I'll jus' hop round to me gran's."

"Where does she live?" Violet asked, standing up when Billy did.

"Gower."

"Oh. I used to live there."

"Uh, yeah, I know. That's why I started following yer. Me gran said you lived in 'er street, but then yer moved."

"And now this is your job?"

"Er...I took photos of Melanie Starlington ages ago...did you see those?"

"I don't know. What was she doing?"

"'aving a row with 'er boyfriend outside a corner store, near where I live. I was taking photos of me nephew for me aunt and I just swung the camera round like."

"Oh, well, you know I don't really agree with those kinds of photos."

"Yeah, I know. I felt bad afterward. Sold 'em for a grand though. Bought me mum a new washer."

"Oh. That's nice of you. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nineteen."

"And this is what you want to do for a living?"

"I jus' make money on the side, like. I'm a courier for Gerald's normally."

"Gerald's?"

"Law firm."

"Oh, okay. Well, good luck with that, Billy."

"Uh, thanks."

"Well, if you happen to be around Madrid Coffee and Cakes on Friday, I'll be there at 10am for an interview. If you're in the area!"

"Oh, cheers!"

"Bye Billy!"

Violet crossed the street as a cab pulled up behind her.

"You don't look like you were jogging very hard," Sherlock commented as Violet spun around.

"Back so soon?"

Sherlock looked slightly annoyed, "Yep. No thanks to the press."

Across the street, Violet saw Billy raise his camera. _A rare moment, _she thought, _when both Sherlock and I are on the street together having a chat. _She reached over, and pulled at Sherlock's coat, bringing him in for a kiss, which he was happy to return.

"What was that for?" he asked suspiciously as Violet pushed open the door to 221.

"Just helping someone out," she replied, mischievously.

"Me, I hope," he replied, following Violet inside.

"So what did the press do?"

"Followed me. So when I was entering the care facility where the girl disappeared from they took photos of me talking to Lestrade. Lestrade became nervous and told me I should leave."

"Why?" Violet asked, turning to Sherlock as they climbed the stairs to their flat.

"Because everyone knows who I am, and now they'll know he was seeking my help. It doesn't look good for the Yard. God forbid anyone should find out they're incompetent."

"You're being a bit harsh on Greg."

"Who's Greg?"

"Sherlock! Really?"

"Anyway, he just texted me and said he'd send someone round with a file. I have to keep my distance, dammit."

Sherlock shrugged off his coat as Violet called, "I'm just going to have a shower!"

* * *

"Fuckwad!"

Sherlock looked over at Violet. "Told you not to read the bad reviews."

"I need to read both good and bad reviews. It keeps me grounded."

"If this is grounded then I'd prefer slightly elevated."

Sherlock looked up as the doorbell rang. Violet slumped down onto the couch.

"Are you going to get that?" he asked.

"Me?" Violet asked in defiance.

"Just keeping you grounded, Ms Hunter. And anyway, aren't you my personal assistant?"

Violet stomped downstairs, and then Sherlock heard another female voice floating up the stairwell.

"No, I really can't stay," Molly was saying. "Just a quick hello then."

Sherlock looked up. "Molly!" he exclaimed.

"Hello!" she said awkwardly to Sherlock. "I just brought the ...er.. file from Greg."

"Oh?" Sherlock looked confused.

"He said he'd call you later. I'd better get back to the lab," she said, handing the file to Sherlock.

"Lovely to see you again, Molly," Violet remarked.

Molly left as Sherlock looked perplexed at Violet. "Why did Lestrade give the file to Molly?"

"So he wouldn't be photographed coming here, probably."

"But why Molly?"

"Because they're together?"

"What?"

"They're a couple."

"Since when?"

"Since the wedding! Didn't you notice?"

"Ah, no," Sherlock said, closing his laptop lid and opening the file on top of it.

"And you're the world's only consulting detective," Violet commented, sitting back down on the couch and picking up her ipad again. She continued reading reviews.

"Oh, fuck off, you dickhead!"

"Violet."

* * *

It was the end of the week, and Sherlock, to Violet's horror, had concluded that the girl had been kidnapped by sex traders, and not her father.

"There's a child sex trafficking ring operating out of London. They target girls who are vulnerable - in care or foster homes.

"That's really awful, Sherlock!"

"I may have to go to Manchester."

"Can I...?"

"Not really a safe environment, Violet."

"Then why would I let you go?"

"Violet."

Violet sighed. They were not going to get in the way of each other's work. They had agreed. And they weren't to make each other feel guilty for just doing their job either.

"I know."

Sherlock made his way over to the kitchen where Violet was flicking through a recipe book open on the still cluttered dining room table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, wanting to change the subject, and embracing Violet from behind.

"Finding a recipe. I want to cook something for you."

"Mmm. That looks nice," Sherlock remarked, pointing to a recipe for caramelised pork.

"I can cook that if you like."

"Let's cook it together," Sherlock murmured over Violet's shoulder and running his finger down the page as he scanned the recipe.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Ah, no."

"Thanks."

"We can't all be good at everything. Except me."

Violet turned around as Sherlock pressed against her. "You're not good at everything."

"What am I not good at?" he asked, beginning to lightly kiss her cheek and neck.

"You're not good at - ah - giving up smoking cigarettes!"

Sherlock chuckled in her ear. "I am good at giving up. I've hidden my stash of cigarettes in a place even I can't remember."

"So are we cooking or snogging now?"

"Well, I'm not hungry," he said.

"That's because you're on a case. Missing child, remember?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock answered, pulling away. "That reminds me..." he said, striding into the living room.

"Where are you going?"

"Scotland Yard."

"What?"

"Just have to look at some of their records - if they'll let me."

"But what about the pork?"

"Why don't I meet you at the supermarket in two hours? We'll shop for the ingredients together. That will be fun!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling.

"O-kay," Violet said slowly, not really believing he would turn up at the supermarket at the designated hour, or even the designated day for that matter. "I'll write up the list of ingredients."

"Got it already!" Sherlock said, as he donned his coat.

"What?"

"Pork belly, lime juice, fish sauce, Shaoxing wine, organic tamari, ginger, garlic, spring onions, star anise, cinnamon, orange rind, sesame oil."

"You saw all that in one glance?"

"I really am good at everything." He winked at her, and trotted off down the stairs.

_Except giving up cigarettes, _Violet thought, glancing around the kitchen. She walked into the living room, looking at everything in which Sherlock could hide a packet of cigarettes. Half an hour later, she'd been through almost everything. Almost everything, that is, except for a small wooden box containing three pull-out drawers. It had been hidden under a pile of papers against the wall of the living room table. The box was locked.

_I know I've seen an old set of keys somewhere, _Violet thought, looking about. _Somewhere odd, but where?_ Then she remembered: the window sill of her sitting room upstairs, hidden behind the curtain. She thought John must have left them there. She found them when she was sitting there, staring out of the window feeling sorry for herself one day...such a long time ago. Nick was still hassling her and she didn't know what she was started to feel for Sherlock.

Violet smiled. Everything was so wonderful now.

_The keys!_

She sprinted upstairs and found the keys exactly where she'd spotted them so long ago. _This is fun! _she thought. _A bit like a treasure hunt._ Happily she found that one of the keys fit the lock perfectly. There was a clicking sound as she turned the key. Opening the top drawer Violet found a crumpled cigarette packet. _I'll burn those,_ she thought defiantly. She opened the second drawer and found another packet of cigarettes. _And those. _The third drawer revealed - a gun.

_Sherlock has a gun? Is he even allowed to have a gun? What am I thinking. Since when does Sherlock obey any sort or rules or laws. Should I lock it up again? But he wouldn't know where the keys were, or was he the one who hid them there?_

VIOLET: [ Why does Sherlock have a gun? ]

JOHN: [ Bloody hell. What's he been shooting now? And no, it's mine. Where did you find it? ]

VIOLET: [ In a wooden box. Sherlock isn't here. ]

JOHN: [ I hid the gun and the box in my room, but it went missing before I moved out. Where did you find the box? ]

VIOLET: [ The living room table under a huge mess. Do you want it back? ]

JOHN: [ Definitely. Whatever you do don't let Sherlock see it before I get there. We're in Brighton. Won't be back until next Tuesday. ]

VIOLET: [ Honeymoon not long enough for you? ]

JOHN: [ Visiting an old friend of Mary's. Obviously you found the keys then? I lost them. ]

VIOLET: [ On the window sill of your old room. ]

JOHN: [ That's right! I'm getting forgetful in my old age. I hid Sherlock's cigarettes too.]

VIOLET: [ About to toss them out. Thanks John! Give my love to Mary! x ]

JOHN: [ Don't let Sherlock get his hands on the gun. He hasn't fixed the living room wall yet! ]

Violet looked over at the expanse of wallpaper above the couch. _Oh, that's what those holes in the smiley face are from. Sherlock! Now where to hide the box? Where would he never look. I know...the laundry._

* * *

"I knew you wouldn't turn up!" an irate Violet exclaimed as she struggled with two shopping bags.

Sherlock reached over and relieved Violet of one of the bags.

"What do you mean? This is me turning up!"

"Forty-five minutes late. I've done the shopping now, except for Shaoxing wine and tamari. You can only get them from an Asian supermarket and a health food store apparently."

Sherlock held up another small bag he was carrying and smirked. "This is why I'm forty-five minutes late."

"You got them?"

"Yes. Good at everything, remember," he stated, striding over to the kerb. "Taxi!"

"How was Scotland Yard?" Violet asked, once they were in the taxi and on their way back to Baker Street.

"Not very helpful. I can't be seen to be assisting them in any way. I have to stay away from the Yard and all crime scenes. Doesn't make my job any easier."

Violet's heart sank. She stared out of the window. It was her again. The publicity. First Sherlock gets bogus cases and now he's denied the opportunity to work for Scotland Yard effectively.

Sherlock noted Violet's silence. He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it," he said gently.

* * *

They'd just finished eating the most amazing pork dish Violet had ever tasted. And the mess in the kitchen was practically non-existent. Sherlock had pretty much controlled every aspect of the cooking, not trusting Violet with anything other than the washing up.

"You know what I'd like you to do?" she asked Sherlock as she stood up to collect the dinner plates.

Sherlock quickly scanned Violet, ideas tumbling through his head.

_Help me  
with the washing up._

Get your goddamned chemistry set off the dining room table.

Keep your smelly socks off the bed. _Put a load of laundry on. _**Stop using my ipad.**

**Make me a cup of coffee.**

Play me something nice on your violin.

_Talk to me about your cases so I can fall asleep._

Make love to me.

**Marry me.**

~marry me~

That last thought reverberated through his head.

"What?"

"Cook a meal for John and Mary."

Sherlock scoffed.

"John can't believe you can actually cook, and cook really well. In all the years he's known you he barely gets a cup of tea out of you, let alone a home-cooked meal."

Violet walked over to the kitchen with the empty plates. Sherlock followed her with the wine glasses and bottle.

"No."

Violet grabbed a cloth from the sink and made her way back to the living room to clean the table. "Why not?"

"Because it sounds like a couples' dinner," Sherlock replied, filling the sink with soapy water.

"Sherlock! I thought you were over that!"

"I'm never going to get over that. It's something that shouldn't happen. It's too contrived."

"Are you joking?"

Sherlock didn't turn around as he washed the plates and answered, "Nope."

"We went to their wedding! You were John's best man! Doesn't all that mean anything to you?"

Violet made her way back into the kitchen.

"Violet, stop trying to make me into something I'm not."

Sherlock rinsed the plates, then started on the cutlery.

"You mean like a human being?"

Sherlock paused for a moment. Why did she always have to go that extra step that made him feel like a cold unemotional prick. He loved her and she knew that. Why the slap in the face every time he didn't comply with the model of her ideal boyfriend. He slowly resumed the washing up as Violet wrapped up the leftovers and placed them in the fridge.

The icy silence was punctuated by Sherlock's phone ringing in the living room.

"Could you answer that please?" Sherlock asked Violet. "My hands are wet."

"Of course. I'm just your personal assistant anyway," she muttered, brushing past him.

Sherlock sighed and pulled the plug out of the sink. It was going to be a long night, and probably a lonely one.

"Good evening, you've reached Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. This is Violet, his personal assistant. How may I help you?"

_Yep, a very lonely and cold night._

"Oh! Did you really?" Violet smiled as she listened to whomever the caller was. "Did she? I think that was the case all over Britain."

Sherlock wondered who Violet was speaking to on his phone. He dried his hands on a tea towel and tried not to glare at her too much.

"Thanks, that's lovely. Wait til you see the next one...Okay, I will. I'll just put him on."

Violet walked over to Sherlock, the smile disappearing from her face. "It's Greg. That's Lestrade to you."

Sherlock took the phone from Violet, but before speaking into it, he held her arm so she wouldn't walk away. He pressed Mute on the phone and then said to Violet, "I don't appreciate you speaking to me the way you do. It hurts my feelings, Violet."

Then he let go of her arm, unmuted the phone and spoke into it, walking away from Violet through the kitchen and into his bedroom.

_Stupid Violet, _she thought to herself. _He's not that unfeeling that my little digs didn't just hurt from time to time._

She walked to the bedroom and opened the door just as Sherlock ended his call.

"I have to go out," he said, walking past her and out of the room.

_Oh, no,_ Violet thought. She hurried to the living room just as Sherlock was putting on his coat. She ran over and quickly shut the door, and leant against it.

"No, you can't leave angry, remember?" she said.

Sherlock looked at her, and stepped closer. "Do you love me the way I am?" he said, looking down at her.

"I love _you_," she whispered back.

"The way I am?"

"All of you. Yes. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Sherlock," she said, gazing up at him with what she hoped was a look of remorse.

He bent down and kissed her, letting Violet wrap her arms around his neck and return his kiss.

"I have to go," he whispered again. "We've got a lead."

Violet caressed Sherlock's face, taking in his cool, grey eyes until they sparkled again.

He said, "Don't wait up, but if you go to sleep, make sure you're not wearing anything to bed, okay?"

"I'll be waiting for you."

He smiled and kissed her again. "I'll think about the couples' dinner." And then he was gone.

* * *

"Where is it?"

Sherlock's eyes looked slightly menacing, but Violet wasn't going to be intimidated.

"John said you couldn't have it."

"John? What's he got to do with anything?"

"It's his, and you can't have it."

Realisation flashed across Sherlock's face. "I don't want his service revolver, Violet. I want the cigarettes. So where is the box? Where did you hide it?"

"You can't have cigarettes either," Violet said defiantly, and crossed her arms.

"I can and I will because I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions," he retorted.

He then started flinging papers off the living room table in a haphazard manner.

"Where is it? What have you done with it?"

"You don't need them!"

"The box, Violet!"

"No."

"You don't understand," he said walking up to stand only inches away from her, his eyes wild. "I'm working on a case. I need a stimulant!"

"I thought you only need stimulants when you weren't working on a case. Aren't cases stimulating enough?"

"Then I need something!"

"Sleep?" Violet suggested. Sherlock hadn't come back home until the sun was up, and he hadn't slept all day.

Sherlock jumped onto his armchair and sat on the top of it, hugging his knees and rocking.

"Sleep? Sleep's dull. I need..." He suddenly looked at Violet, his eyes narrowed. "Seratonin and endogenous morphine," he stated in a serious voice.

"What?" Violet asked in alarm. Pharamceutical drugs were not a good leap from nicotine.

"To bring me down."

He stood up onto his armchair and stepped down to Violet, who looked at him panic-stricken.

"And I know exactly how to get them."

"Sherlock? You shouldn't..."

"You."

"Sherlock..."

_I don't have connections to drug dealers anymore,_ she thought feeling very disconcerted as Sherlock was looking at her like a predator eyes its prey.

"Serotonin and endorphins are released during orgasm-"

"What?" Violet asked, incredulously and taking a step back from him. "No, Sherlock."

She wasn't about to have sex with a crazy man.

"Violet."

He looked deadly serious and not fun at all.

"I have to make a phone call, and... and wash my hair!" Violet stammered, moving away from him toward the living room door.

Sherlock suddenly realised that Violet wasn't going to play.

"Violet?"

Laughing, she suddenly took off out of the living room door, and up the stairs to her room.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, sprinting after her.

He caught her just as she rounded the corner on the stairwell, grabbing her heel. She fell onto her hands, giggling.

"Shh!" he said. "I'll make it worth your while," he whispered as she turned over to face him.

"Sherlock, we can't have sex on the stairs."

"Everything's possible with the right kind of equipment," he murmured, stretching out on top of her.

"What are you talking about?"

"You and me," he murmured before ravishing her neck, and slipping his hands inside everywhere.

"Sherlock!"

"I should've done this to you when you refused me on the stairwell a year ago."

"I wouldn't have respected you," Violet replied feebly. She was actually starting to enjoy this.

"I didn't want your respect," he whispered, his hands under her top.

Violet felt her bra become loosened as Sherlock unclasped it. He ran his hands around to the front.

At that moment Mrs Hudson's voice drifted up the stairs. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock dropped his head from Violet's neck and banged it onto the adjacent step. Twice.

"Answer her, or she'll be here in a moment," Violet whispered.

Sherlock climbed off Violet, stood up and peered down the middle of the stairwell.

"What!" he yelled.

"Do you want me to bring this package up?"

"No, leave it on the entrance table," he bellowed. "Don't come up! Noxious fumes!"

"What? What are you doing up there, young man?"

"Just leave it!" he yelled finally.

He turned back to the stairs and hung his head as he saw that Violet had continued upwards.

Adjusting his trousers to relieve him slightly of the discomfort his erection caused, he ascended the stairs after her. He went to open her door, but found it locked.

"Violet?"

"I'm busy!" came the reply from within.

"Not funny, Violet!" he called, resting his forehead on the door.

"Go and have a shower!" she called back.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the door, then hurried back downstairs.

"I will not be defeated by my own girlfriend," he muttered.

He strode over to his shelves in the far corner of the room and retrieved the small toolkit he kept for this exact purpose. Breaking and entering.

Back upstairs, he inserted the tension wrench into the lock and turned it slightly counterclockwise. Having done that he preceded to insert the pick, feeling for the lock pins inside. After a few seconds he felt the click of the lock.

_Done. Not like I haven't picked John's lock a dozen times before,_ he chuckled to himself.

He opened the door and found Violet on her phone.

"Thanks Danny," she said, turning to look at a triumphant Sherlock standing in the doorway. "I'll speak to you again next week. Bye!"

"Now, where were we?" Sherlock asked, deadly calm.

Violet eyed him for a moment, smirking, then made a dash to her bedroom door. Before Sherlock could get to it, she had slammed it shut, and locked herself in.

"Violet, this is stupid!" Sherlock called out through the door once more.

He looked down at the door knob. The bedroom door required no key. Sherlock patted his pockets. Empty. He looked around Violet's sitting room. Her purse was on her coffee table. He opened it up and rummaged until he found what he was looking for. Five pence.

He inserted the edge of the coin into the slot and turned it pushing the door open as he did so.

Violet was nowhere to be seen.

"You've really backed yourself into a corner here," he said in a low voice, shutting the door behind him.

"I'll scream!" came a voice from under the bedcovers.

"That's what I'm hoping for," Sherlock whispered as he approached the bed.

Violet threw down the blanket, her hair looking particularly dishevelled, and the rest of her quite, quite naked.

Sherlock stopped by the edge of the bed, with his hands in his pockets and regarded her.

"This is a really pathetic attempt at hiding. And if you're running from an assailant, you shouldn't run until you have nowhere left to go. Head for an open space. Go towards civilisation."

"That would be Mrs Hudson."

"Precisely."

"But how am I going to lure you into my bed?"

"Oh, is that what this is about?"

"Perhaps it was my plan all along?"

"You're really not that clever."

"I really am. Coming in?" she asked, lying back down and smiling at Sherlock sweetly.

"I can resist, you know," he remarked, and not moving from his position.

"I know. But you don't want to," she replied, her eyes flickering toward his crotch and back to his face again.

"Just for the record, I won. You didn't escape me," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"I could hurt you if I really wanted to."

"The only way you could really hurt me is to break my heart."

* * *

Violet spent the next couple of days reading a novel, _The Albatross_ by Jayle Anglesee, and also practised reading it aloud to get her voice strengthened for recording the audio book for it the following week. It was probably a good thing that Sherlock was away both nights, as she wanted to attend a couple of plays too.

Of course she had invited Sherlock, and naturally he had declined.

She went along with Mandi, Chenoa, Matt, Nathan and Rhiannon, the young actress she had befriended on the set of Catherine Hilderness.

Violet had tipped off Billy, the young paparazzo, that they would be meeting at a coffee shop before going to the theatre. She had encountered him at the magazine interview the previous week, and asked him for his number so she could text him other events. She figured the paparazzi would be close by anyway, and that he could use a helping hand by taking photos the others wouldn't get. And because Billy was already familiar with Violet, the other mini celebrities such as Chenoa and Matt were only too happy to pose for photos for him.

Violet returned from the second play quite late. The group had decided to go to a club after the theatre, so Violet went along for half an hour, before convincing Rhiannon to leave early with her and share a taxi home. Violet had a splitting headache, and alcohol and nightclub music were the last things she wanted.

And of course the first thing she wanted was to snuggle up close to Sherlock. She'd only caught a glimpse of him earlier that day as he took off for Scotland Yard. It seemed he had found a less public entrance.

She found the flat empty once more, so she took a couple of paracetamol tablets, showered and slipped between the sheets of Sherlock's bed.

In the early hours of the morning, she sensed Sherlock in bed with her. He didn't cuddle up to her, but she knew he was there just the same. She was too tired to wake fully but slid over to him. He loosely put his arm around her, but he remained awake, and clothed.

"What time is it?" she asked, eventually rousing from her sleep, and noticing Sherlock lying next to her in his work shirt and trousers.

"Shh, it's still early. Go back to sleep," he whispered.

"But what are you doing?" she asked, sitting up slightly and eyeing his attire.

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, and in the early morning gloom, Violet could see he was upset.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock sat up and swung his legs off the bed and sat there for a moment. Eventually he ran his hands through his hair.

"I've completely fucked up, Violet," he whispered.

Alarmed, Violet quickly moved to his side. "Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock rested his head in his hands, while Violet put her arm around him. She rubbed his arm.

"I found them," he began in a hoarse whisper. "The girls. There were six of them."

"Kidnapped girls?"

"Yes. I found them in a small flat in Islington. I could have..." He stopped and breathed out.

"What?"

"I could've just let them go. Just opened the door and let them go."

"But what happened?"

"A couple of them wouldn't go. They've been so abused and were addicted to drugs supplied by their captors that they were too scared to go. The others thought I was just another abuser trying to lure them elsewhere. I had another idea. I was smug, Violet. Fucking smug. I wanted to catch the kidnappers. I wanted them there. I waited for them. Waited for three hours on the balcony of a flat across the street."

"What happened?"

"They were smuggled out the back, into an alleyway. I didn't see them. How could I have been so stupid!"

"And Lestrade?"

"I didn't call him."

Sherlock stood up. "I was so fucking - arrogant."

"Sherlock, you couldn't have known."

"Me? Not think four steps ahead of a group of kidnappers. Me? Not look for a back door?"

Violet got off the bed and retrieved her dressing gown from the nearby chair. "Why don't you call Lestrade now? Perhaps he can intercept them somewhere?"

"No, they'll be long gone. They could be anywhere. I didn't let them go when I had the chance. Didn't call the police. I'm no better than the bastards who took them."

Violet drew her dressing gown around her. "Oh, Sherlock," she sighed, putting her arms around him.

"I don't need a hug," he said, removing Violet's arms. "I need to be shot." And he strode from his bedroom, leaving Violet alone in the dark.


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

"What are you watching?" Sherlock asked as he entered his bedroom.

"Oh, hi," Violet said, pulling her headphones out of her ears. "Episode two."

"Without me?" he asked, walking over to the bed.

"Sorry, I thought you didn't want to watch them."

Violet shifted over when she realised Sherlock was going to join her in bed. She had left him in the loungeroom, sitting in his armchair, his hands steepled under his chin. She'd been tiptoeing around him the last few days since the kidnappers had disappeared from right under his nose. He hadn't wanted her sympathy or pity - didn't want her to hug him or console him. She knew he wanted her close by though. He would often look for her when she disappeared upstairs to practise reading for the audio book, or if she'd gone to take a shower. And he'd pull her in tightly when they lay in bed. He even woke her gently for sex this morning.

"No, maybe I'll watch them when you're in Australia and I need something to masturbate to," he said so very matter-of-factly that Violet wasn't sure if he was serious or not.

She smiled wanly at him anyway, and Sherlock leant over for a kiss. Violet turned to him, but instead he pressed their foreheads together and lifted one hand up to caress her cheek.

"I'm fine, really," he whispered. "Don't worry about me."

"I can't help it," she whispered back. "I don't know what to do for you."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he said, "Why would I need you to do anything for me?"

"No reason," Violet answered quickly, her heart sinking.

Ever since their break up last year, Violet would regard Sherlock's brief episodes of coldness with a sense of trepidation.

Sherlock regarded Violet for a moment. "What you're doing is fine," he said, his face softening. "Just being here."

"But I won't be here in two weeks."

"And I'll be onto the next thing. Don't worry."

He kissed her on the cheek, and rose from the bed. He turned back to her from the doorway and asked, "How's Jake?"

_Of course, he heard me upstairs talking to Danny the other day._ "He's a lot better. Still in hospital, but undergoing physio." _And asking for Stacey to be snuck in at night. At least one part of his anatomy is functioning as normal,_ Violet thought, recollecting her conversation with Danny.

"Good," Sherlock replied impassively. "And when's the interview in Scotland?"

"It's not in Scotland. The host is Scottish. I just have to go to Cardiff where the studio is. It's the day after tomorrow."

"I'll come with you if you like?"

Violet brightened. "I'd love you to, Sherlock."

"Good."

Sherlock smiled briefly and left the room.

_I guess his mood will pick up once he's distracted by something else, _Violet thought. _Like cooking?_ He'd agreed to have John and Mary over for dinner, but hadn't said any more about it. Violet didn't want to push him and had contacted John to set a date for later in the week. John would be able to reclaim his service revolver as well.

* * *

"He speaks too fast for me!" Mandi complained.

"Then it's a good thing you're not the one being interviewed," Violet laughed.

"Do you think you've prepared enough?" Mandi asked worriedly.

"I don't think you can prepare for his interviewing technique."

"But do you know everything you're allowed to say about playing Satis in Rise of the Five? He'll ask about it now that it's been announced."

"There aren't any big spoilers that I know of. I can be suitably vague about the plot."

Sherlock looked over at them from the dining table. They were sitting in the armchairs in front of the fire, and Sherlock was examining a specimen under the microscope. The girls had been watching interviews from _The Late Show with Tevish Stewart_ on YouTube.

"So I've let them know there'll be three for the limo. Bonnie needs to go to the studio before us with her kit and your dress. Are you sure you don't want Trevor? Your hair looked amazing at the TELSAs," Mandi asked, tapping away at her screen.

"Bonnie can do both hair and make-up. She's good. And anyway, I don't want to be bringing a whole lot of people."

"Oh, don't be silly. Natasha what's-her-face had eight in her entourage according to Tevish's producer."

"Eight?" repeated Violet as Sherlock looked up and frowned.

"Let's see," Mandi held out her hands and counted on her fingers, "Manager, publicist, assistant, hair, make-up, wardrobe, and, oh, her sister and her puppy."

Mandi looked down again as Violet looked over at Sherlock. She smiled at him, guessing what he would be thinking.

What he was thinking was _I'm leaving Violet if she's ever surrounded by that number of people. And a puppy. Mandi is bad enough._

Mandi looked up again at Violet. "Oh, I forgot her dietician. I think the producer wasn't counting the puppy when she said eight. And your hotel room is booked at the Atrium on The Esplanade."

"Are you fine with coming back with Bonnie?" Violet asked, feeling guilty that she and Sherlock were staying the night in Cardiff while Mandi and Bonnie would catch the train back to London in the evening.

"No, I have to anyway. Gavin's got a mate's 30th, so..."

"Okay, great."

"Oh, here's Natasha's interview. Let's watch that."

Violet perched herself on the edge of the armrest of Mandi's chair. Sherlock glanced up from the microscope now and then, particularly when the audience was laughing, which was often.

"Sounds chaotic," he remarked.

"That's the format of the show. I mean, it's a chat show, so he just chats with his guests," Violet explained.

Sherlock smiled reassuringly at Violet, "You'll be fine then."

* * *

Mandi was more nervous than Violet was, and she was setting Sherlock on edge. Bonnie by contrast was quiet. She just sat on the sofa in their hotel room and sent texts to friends. Or tweeted, as Mandi found out later.

"Oh my God, I didn't check what you're going to wear!" Mandi exclaimed, wide eyed and in a panic.

Sherlock rested his head against the window and looked out at the city and sighed.

"I'm fine to choose my own clothes."

"No! You have to be careful what you wear on these shows. The way they face the chairs to the audience and camera if your skirt or dress is too short you'll be able to see your thighs when you cross your legs...and-"

"Mandi-"

"-if you have a plunging neckline then all Tevish will do is stare at your cleavage."

"Mandi, it's fine."

"But if it's all wrong, you won't have a chance to shop for another!"

"I think I'm fine."

"What about your hair?" Mandi asked, then turned around to glare at Bonnie.

"What do you think?" Violet asked Bonnie.

"I think wear it up," she answered. "It will go with the sleek look of your outfit."

"Why does she know what you're wearing and I don't?" Mandi replied in a huff.

Sherlock noticed the doors opening up onto a balcony and was relieved to escape through them.

Shortly afterward, Violet joined him. She tutted when she saw his lit cigarette.

"All sorted then, with your hair and your..." he waved his hand at her, "...stuff."

"I'll be fine."

Violet walked over to Sherlock as he was leaning on the balcony railing and wrapped her arms around his non-smoking arm, leaning into him.

"You know I love you don't you?" he began.

"Yes."

"And I'm learning to respect what you do for a living?"

"Sherlock," Violet started in protest, turning to face him.

He took a drag on his cigarette then exhaled, saying, "I think I should go."

"What?"

"I'm just thinking about the child sex trafficking racket."

"What about it?"

"I have people looking. I think I should go and follow up."

"You have people?"

"Homeless network. My eyes and ears all over London. I think I should go back to London."

"Now? We just got here."

"I know," he said, and reached out to rub her arm. "But Violet, you have - them. I'm needed elsewhere. There are - girls - children - who need me to do my job, and do it properly, right now. I can't stand here listening to - _this_." He gestured to the balcony door, indicating Mandi and Bonnie inside who were having a heated argument about Violet's outfit.

Violet had never heard Sherlock talk about how people were affected by crime. Victims of crime. This was different. It was - _compassionate_. She replied, "I - I get it. I do. You should go."

"Violet, I-"

Violet was jolted to a reality which was far different from her own. How pathetic and spoilt would she have thought of her own life now, back when she was living with Emily: people arguing over what she should wear to a segment on a television show dedicated to talking about her achievements on telly. There were young girls out there who had been betrayed by adults; let down by a whole system that was put in place to supposedly protect them. And she was worried about whether her hair was an appropriate style for her outfit.

"No, it's okay Sherlock, really. I'm just in my own little world here. I mean, how utterly selfish and self-absorbed am I right now."

"Violet," he said in exasperation.

"No. Go. This is stupid and completely farcical. I'm being pampered so everyone can talk about me, and my ... my next project. And I get to dress up and look pretty and everyone can say how wonderful I am. And there's girls out there who don't even get a childhood, being forced to have sex with... with..."

"Violet, I'm not denigrating what you do..."

"I know you're not, Sherlock!" She took a breath, then said softly, "But you should go. You're right. You're not an accessory. You have a better purpose than this."

"Hey," he whispered, pulling her in for a hug.

"Don't worry about me," Violet said, wiping tears away. "I'm just being a baby."

The balcony door opened and Mandi stuck her head out. "Mr Sherlock Holmes, how dare you make the talent cry!"

Violet turned her head to address Mandi, still nestled in Sherlock's embrace. "I'm fine, Mandi. Go back inside."

Sherlock glared at Mandi as she spat, "Two hours til we have to leave! You can't upset the talent, mister!"

"Stop fucking calling me that! Close the fucking door, Mandi!"

With a huff, Mandi slid the glass door closed.

Sherlock reached out and brushed Violet's hair aside when she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Violet."

"Don't be. I'm not upset with you, really. You should go. You've just put a whole new perspective on things."

Sherlock put his other hand up to Violet's face.

"Careful," she said of the lit cigarette.

Sherlock turned to flick the cigarette out in the ashtray resting on the small outdoor table.

"I don't want you to stay here by yourself," he remarked, gently taking her by the hand.

"No, I'll come back with Bonnie and Mandi."

"Or get them to stay? The room's already paid for."

"I think they'll kill each other before the night's out. No, we'll come back."

"Violet," he said, cradling her face in his hands again and brushing her hair from her face once more.

"I love you, Sherlock."

They kissed, a brief moment of privacy stolen before the balcony door slid open once more.

"I'm going to order room service for lunch. Do you two love birds want anything?"

"Why don't you go out for lunch, and give us some time?" Violet asked, trying to remain calm.

"Oh, yuck," Mandi grimaced and closed the door again.

"Violet, I'll stay," Sherlock said quickly.

"What?"

"I'll stay for the taping of the show, then leave on the 7pm train. It'll be finished by six won't it?"

"Um...yes," Violet replied, feeling slightly confused at Sherlock's sudden change of heart. "Anytime between five and six, depending on whether they have to re-do any of Tevish's monologues or whatever. But we can go as soon as my bit is done. Sherlock, are you sure?"

"Yes. I think a few hours won't make any difference if we leave right after your interview."

"Sherlock," Violet said, feeling emotional again.

"Perhaps Mandi and Bonnie can put aside their differences and go clubbing or whatever. Have the room for the night."

Violet smiled and hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll go ask them."

Violet left Sherlock on the balcony and re-entered the room. There was a squeal from inside, which indicated Mandi's approval at the change in plans. Shortly afterward, Violet peeked out onto the balcony.

"You can come back inside now. They've left to get lunch."

Sherlock grinned and entered the room.

"What should we do for two hours?" he asked, mischievously.

"Well, we can't use the bed," Violet replied. "That wouldn't be good form."

"Do you feel like having a bath to freshen up?" Sherlock asked, a note of hope in his voice.

* * *

"There's a few fans waiting over there," Mandi observed through the limousine window.

"I don't think they're here for me," Violet mused. "Who were the other guests? Did they confirm them?"

"Ah, that guy who does the copper show. I don't know his name. Tall, lanky. He was engaged to that model who got drunk at ..."

Sherlock tutted.

"I don't know who you're talking about Mandi," said Violet.

"Anyway, the musical act are _Beige Apples._"

"They're good. Must be their fans."

"Doubt it. They're not that good. Oh, hello!" Mandi greeted the doorman who opened the car door for them.

She stepped out, followed by Violet and lastly Sherlock. Along the pavement behind a barrier was a small group yelling "Violet!" and a few voices calling "Sherlock!"

A business-like woman hovered by the car and stepped up to them.

"Hello Violet," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Nancy Dundas, Assistant Producer. Welcome."

"Nice to meet you, Nancy," Violet replied, shaking Nancy's hand. "This is my boyfriend Sherlock Holmes and my assistant Mandi Donnelson."

"Lovely to meet you both. Mandi - we've spoken on the phone. Welcome. Now there's some fans over there who have been waiting all afternoon. If you like you can just pose for photos here or go on over and sign autographs. Completely up to you. We've time for both."

"I'll do both, that's fine."

"You may like to wait here in the shade," Nancy suggested to Sherlock and Mandi.

They stood back as Nancy and the man who'd opened the car door accompanied Violet over to the barrier.

"Wow," whispered Mandi to Sherlock, "Those fans don't miss a beat. Look, some of them are already holding Rise of the Five comics for her to sign."

Sherlock sighed. _What was the point of this? Why are these people here? Even if they enjoyed watching Violet on the small screen why was it necessary for them to have her scrawl her name over a photo of herself? What are they going to do with it? And the way they were yelling out to her. Look at that guy - he's going to hyperventilate. It's just Violet! _

_So she can cry on cue; did they not know that she couldn't cook, or that she hangs up her bras all over the bathroom, doesn't know the difference between a frozen bag of eyeballs and a bag of fingers and swears at inanimate objects, including me when I'm lying on the couch. Look at them all. Are they all so vacant? What is it like to be inside their funny little brains? So she's good at pretending...so what?_

He hadn't really noticed the crowd of fans at the TELSAs. He'd been half tanked. Now that he knew that such occasions accompanying Violet in public would result in this, he vowed to consume alcohol beforehand.

"They're calling for you," Mandi whispered to him, interrupting his thoughts.

Sherlock looked over to a small cluster of girls that Violet was approaching. They were signalling to her to call Sherlock over. Both Violet and Nancy looked over at him. Violet beckoned him, as Mandi hissed, "Go!"

"What for?" he asked irritably.

"Just go! They probably want your autograph too!"

_You're fucking joking,_ he thought. But Violet gestured to him again as Nancy left Violet and came over to him. Violet had turned back and was posing for photos with one fan.

"A couple want your autograph," Nancy informed him. "Of course you don't have to. You're under no obligation here."

"Except to Violet," Mandi muttered under her breath, but so Sherlock could hear. "You'd better go, or is it all beneath you?" she whispered to him when Nancy left.

Sherlock sighed. Inwardly cringing, he walked over to Violet as a handful of girls who watched him started to scream. Violet turned to him and gave him a reassuring smile. She grabbed his hand and said, "They wanted to meet you too."

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God..." one girl said, on a continuous cycle as Sherlock stared at her in disbelief.

"Sherlock!" another young woman said, holding out a photo of Violet and Sherlock posing together at the TELSAs. "Can you sign please?"

Sherlock took the pen out of her outstretched hand, still staring at the girl who had now moved on to rant, "I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe..."

He quickly signed his name underneath Violet's, and gave the pen back to the woman. Another photo was thrust in front of him. Violet was posing for another photo with a fan. The 'I can't breathe' girl was still rambling so Sherlock gave her a penetrating stare and remarked to her, "Yet you can speak."

She stopped her monotonous babble for a moment and started wide eyed and open mouthed at Sherlock before saying, "He spoke to me! He spoke to me! Oh my God oh my God..."

Sherlock looked incredulously at Violet, but she seemed oblivious, happily signing a couple of comic books and conversing with the fans.

"Sherlock?" the girl in front of him holding the second photo prompted again.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, looking down and realising that the photo was a screen shot of his own website. "Have you read it?" he said with a half smile.

"Yes," she replied. "Every night before I go to bed." She beamed.

"A bit unnecessary, if you understood it at all," Sherlock commented while scrawling his name.

"I believe I have good powers of deduction," she boasted.

"Excellent. Put them to good use then," he remarked unemotionally. "Violet?" he said, stepping back from the barrier a little and ignoring the other girls calling his name.

"We're done?" she said to him, and she stepped back as well. "Thank you!" she called out to the group as Sherlock's hand linked hers. "Thanks for coming!" she added.

"Together!" someone yelled. "A photo together!"

Violet stopped and moved closer to Sherlock. He put his arm around her and tried not to glare angrily at the fans who were holding up their cameras and phones. Mandi would point out every photo of him scowling on the internet if he did so, as she had done previously at his flat.

He held the pose for about seven seconds. That's all he could manage. He dropped his arm and pulled away from Violet, grabbing her hand again amid calls for "Kiss! A kiss! One kiss!"

He kept walking, holding onto to Violet who waved a couple more times. Then she quickened her pace to walk beside him.

"Don't speak until we're inside," Violet said, with a smile on her face. Her warning was timely as Sherlock was about to launch into a serious monologue about the whole experience.

"Thank you," said Nancy joining them. "Just a couple of photos for the professionals here."

She indicated the paparazzi - there were four of them - cordoned off to the other side of the pavement.

Violet stepped forward and smiled and turned this way and that for about twenty seconds amid calls of "Violet! Violet! Left! left! Look right! Violet! Shoulder! Right shoulder!"

_This is fucking insane,_ thought Sherlock. _What happened to manners? How about take it in turns?_

Violet waved and called, "Thank you!" again.

Sherlock was relieved when they were ushered inside the studio foyer.

"Now I'll show you to your dressing room, and the green room for your people," Nancy began as they crossed the glittering foyer adorned with gold plated everything. They waited for the elevator as Nancy continued, "Tevish may drop in to say hello about ten minutes before taping. But if you have any questions or requests for food or anything, don't hesitate to ask myself or..." and she waved over a young man who hurried into the elevator before the doors closed, "..or Bevan here. This is Bevan Woods, my assistant."

"Can I sit in the audience?" Mandi asked as Violet shot her a look.

"No, we're full, sorry. There is a television set in the green room," Nancy replied. "You'll be in there with the bands' people, and Hendryk Luchford's people as well as the other guests.

"That's his name!" exclaimed Mandi.

_People_, thought Sherlock. _Every guest had people. He was one of Violet's people._

As if she knew what he was thinking, Violet gave his hand a squeeze.

"Is there a smoking area?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, Bevan will take you. Ah, did you need to?" she redirected her question to Violet.

"No, no, just Sherlock. I'm fine thank you." Violet made a mental note to get mad at Sherlock later.

They followed Nancy down a narrow corridor. "Beige Apple are in there," she pointed to a closed door which already bore a name card reading 'Beige Apple'. "And Hendryk is here," she added pointing unecessarily at another name card.

They continued around a corner. "And you're here!"

She opened a door tagged with "Violet Hunter."

"But I'll show you where the green room is so you can find your people if they desert you. Once they find the mini bar, you pretty much won't see them again," Nancy said to Violet as if Sherlock and Mandi weren't there.

_Mini bar, _thought Sherlock.

Around another corner Nancy lead them through a pair of double doors and into a large square room. There was an assortment of sofas and armchairs, framed pictures of Tevish Stewart posing with celebrities in his studio, a guitar mounted on one wall, a large television mounted on another, and a long bench stretching the length of one wall loaded with appetizers, a fruit platter, mini sandwiches and dips, pastries and muffins. And a good stock of beer and wine. No spirits, Sherlock noted.

There were a few people in there already, and amongst those was Bonnie, chatting animatedly to a couple of guys. She turned to the doorway as they entered and exclaimed, "Oh, you're here! Gotta go guys," she said, addressing the men she was talking to. Mandi tutted and glared at her.

"I'll stay here," Mandi said. "Unless you need me?"

"I'll text you," Violet replied, thinking probably not.

"Right, well I'll leave you in Bevan's capable hands," said Nancy. "I'll be back in half an hour to give you a brief rundown."

"Thank you, Nancy," Violet said as Nancy exited the green room.

"Should we get started?" Violet said to Bonnie.

"Ooh, yeah, def," Bonnie remarked, squinting at Violet's hair. She had already put it up in a loose bun at the hotel in preparation for Violet's arrival at the studio, but now she had to re-do it for the show.

"Now," said Bevan to Sherlock. "You're after the deck for a smoke?"

"Yes," he answered, and he thought and a scotch.

"I'll show you back to your dressing room, then take Mr. Holmes out to the deck for a ciggie," Bevan said, addressing Violet.

"I know where my dressing room is. You go ahead," she answered.

"It's in the same direction," Bevan remarked, gesturing ahead.

They'd just rounded the corner when they bumped into Tevish Stewart himself, followed by an attractive brunette carrying a manilla folder and a coffee cup.

"Violet Hunter! Lovely!"

He leant in and kissed Violet on the cheek.

"How are you Tevish?" Violet asked.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" The Scot replied. "Glad you could make it. Ah, the man himself," he said, turning to Sherlock.

He extended his hand, which Sherlock grasped and shook. "Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"Yes, yes! I'm so glad you came along too."

Bevan interrupted at this point. "I'm just taking Mr. Holmes out to the deck."

"Oh great! I'll join you in a wee minute. I need to have a word," he said, leaning in and speaking softly. "Violet! Nancy got everything sorted for you?"

"Yes, thank you. She'll be in for the rundown shortly."

"Ah, good. Don't hesitate to let her know what you want us to discuss. She'll make sure it's in my notes."

"Thank you."

"Great! We'll see you soon!"

He disappeared around the corner along with his assistant.

"See you in a bit," Sherlock said to Violet as they reached her dressing room door.

Sherlock thought he could stand out there in the fading sunlight, chain smoking until it was time to leave Cardiff. Probably wouldn't go down too well with Violet though, if he missed watching the show as it was taped.

The door to the deck area opened as Sherlock was halfway through his first cigarette and Tevish stepped out, lighting up a one himself.

"Ah, good," he marked upon seeing Sherlock. "I'm really glad you came along with Violet. I was going to ask her how to approach you."

"Approach me?" Sherlock asked as Tevish made his way over to him.

"Ah, yeah. A bit of a delicate situation. I wanted to hire your services. That's what people do, don't they? Hire you?"

"I don't take every case that comes along," Sherlock stated.

"Well, I can pay well. There's no trouble about that."

"I have no doubt."

"You see - it's my wife. My current wife. I have two ex-wives."

Sherlock breathed out heavily.

"I want to know if my wife is having an affair."

Sherlock looked down and flicked his ash into the freestanding terracotta ashtray.

"You want to know whether or not your wife is having an affair," he repeated slowly, "when you yourself are cheating on her with your assistant?"

A grin spread on Tevish's face. "Oh, you're good, aren't you? They said that about you. And here I was thinking we were being quite discreet."

"All it takes is one prolonged embrace for her perfume to rub off on you. Classic by Jean Paul Gaultier. I've written a little blog post on the identification of perfumes. You should read it."

Tevish's smile faltered for a second before he composed himself. Ever the professional entertainer.

"I still want to know. A prenuptial agreement depends on it."

"You don't need me Mr. Stewart. A private investigator will do the job just as well. All it requires is following her around with a long lens. Any moron could do that."

"Please call me Tevish. But yes. I did consider a P.I, but confidentiality is the key. I thought you, being with Violet Hunter, you'd appreciate the need for keeping one's private life just that. Away from the prying eyes of the media and public. I've already had two very public divorces and once you're in the press again, well everything comes out doesn't it?"

"Like your alcoholism and addiction to painkillers?"

Tevish was quite thrown although he tried to laugh it off. "That's why I want you!" he exclaimed.

The door to the deck opened at that moment and Tevish's brunette assistant peered round the door at them. "Make-up Tevish!" she said.

"Ooh, yes, right," he said, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray.

He waited until the door closed again then said to Sherlock, "I'd really appreciate it. Anything I can do in return..."

"I don't know Mr. Stewart. I can hardly think what you can possibly give me in return. But why don't we agree to this: make your interview with Violet as comfortable for her as possible, and I'll consider it."

The smile spread across Tevish's face again. "That, I can do!" He turned to leave Sherlock, then looked back at him as he opened the door, "Just ask Bevan if you want any top shelf spirits. We keep that away from the general riff raff we get in the green room!"

* * *

"Just a soda water, thank you," Sherlock heard Violet saying as Bevan came into the corridor, closing the door to her dressing room behind him.

"And I'll have a scotch," Sherlock added as Bevan spun around in surprise. "Single malt. Thank you," Sherlock said with a grin.

He entered Violet's dressing room just as Bonnie was teasing Violet's hair up.

"Hi!" Violet greeted him. "Are you going to wait in here with me, or have a few drinks in the green room?"

"I might do both," Sherlock replied, finding a comfy armchair in the corner of the dressing room and sinking into it. "Bevan's bringing me a scotch."

"How did you score that?" Violet asked, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"You have to know people in high places," he replied enigmatically.

Violet frowned then returned to reading her magazine. Sherlock watched in fascination as Bonnie pinned Violet's hair in place.

"You've just knotted it all up, then hidden the mess under the long bits!" he remarked incredulously.

Violet glared at him as Bonnie giggled. "It's called teasing," she informed him. It makes Violet's hair appear thicker underneath."

"Like attaching the hair of dead people," Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock!" reprimanded Violet.

"Excuse me?" Bonnie asked, not following.

"He's talking about extensions," Violet said.

"Oh!" commented Bonnie, placing more pins into Violet's bun. "What do you think of hair extensions?" she asked Sherlock.

"A bit like attaching someone else's finger nails to your own. Or making a jacket out of their skin."

"Sherlock!" Violet said in horror, as Bonnie laughed.

"Not quite the same," Bonnie remarked as Sherlock shrugged and looked down at his phone. "And I don't think the hair extensions come from dead people."

Bonnie kept stealing glances in the mirror at Sherlock who was no longer watching. He was rapidly typing an email.

Violet continued flicking through her magazine until her phone buzzed.

"Can you get that please, Sherlock? It's in my bag."

Violet continued reading as Sherlock walked over to rummage in Violet's bag which was on the dressing table. Bonnie watched him out of interest as she continued pinning.

"John," he said, reading. "They're bringing dessert. And he said all the best for the show." He looked up at Violet. "So dinner's on is it?"

"Saturday," Violet replied. "That okay? You don't have to cook."

Bonnie listened to the exchange while she tended to Violet's hair.

Sherlock returned Violet's phone, and strode back to the armchair. "I'm not letting you cook for them," he remarked, sitting down again.

"I have cooked dinner parties before I'll have you know."

Sherlock huffed and went back to reading his emails. Bonnie smirked as Violet continued reading.

There was a small knock at the door, to which Violet replied, "Come in!"

Bevan opened the door holding a drinks tray bearing a glass of water, a bottle of champagne with two champagne glasses, a bottle of scotch and a tumbler.

"The champagne is courtesy of Tevish," Bevan gushed.

"Thank you. How lovely," remarked Violet, as Bevan placed the tray on the dressing table. He opened the scotch whiskey and poured a glass for Sherlock.

"I'll just leave the bottle in here for you to help yourself," he said in a stage whisper to Sherlock as he handed him the glass. "Tevish's orders!"

Sherlock said a brief "Thanks" as Violet commented, "That's really not necessary."

"Oh, it's on the house, so why not! Would you like the champagne now?"

"A bit later thank you, Bevan. We'll pour it ourselves."

"If there's nothing else you want? Brenda will stop by with some appetizers in a minute."

"They're just in the green room aren't they?" Violet asked.

"They're for the ..." He screwed his nose up. "...others. She'll bring in something nice for you."

Bonnie shot Bevan a look, which he didn't see as he exited the dressing room.

"There, how's that?" Bonnie asked, as Violet stood up so she could look through the angled mirrors at the back of her hair.

"Oh, that's so elegant! Thank you, Bonnie!"

"You're welcome! Now, should we do make-up now, or after you've eaten?"

"I'm not sure I could eat anything, but we've got over an hour. Why don't you go back to the green room, and come back in, say, half an hour?"

"Sure, no probs. See ya later!" She directed her goodbye to Sherlock who ignored her, staring at his phone.

Violet retrieved her water from the drinks tray as Bonnie left.

"What did Tevish want to chat about?" Violet asked Sherlock as she made her way over to the corner where he was seated.

"Wants to hire me."

"Hire _you_?" And when Sherlock looked offended she added, "What for?"

"To find out if his wife is cheating on him."

"Oh! That's sad. This is his third wife!"

Violet sat on the armrest of the chair and leaned into Sherlock, putting her arm around his shoulders and letting her fingers tangle into the curls about his neck. He reflexively put one arm around her.

"I don't think it's her company he'll miss. I think he's just trying to protect his fortune."

"Still sad. His last divorce was in the press. She said he was an alcoholic."

"He is."

"Oh, Sherlock!"

"You know she's made a mess of your hair," Sherlock said, frowning and looking at Violet's bun. "She hid it under all that."

Violet laughed. "Sherlock, I know. I was there. It's meant to be like that."

"Come and sit here properly," Sherlock said, gesturing to his lap.

Violet rose from the armrest and made herself comfortable on Sherlock's lap, sitting sideways, with her arms around his neck again.

"I don't want you to drink any more," she told him.

"Why not?"

"Because you're supposed to be working when you get back into London tonight. Remember that little thing called a case you wanted to keep working on?"

"Oh. Yes."

He narrowed his eyes as his face grew serious, then he drew Violet in for a kiss. Her lips warmed his, which had been cooled by the crisp afternoon air outside. _Interesting_, Sherlock thought, as Violet's kissing became deeper, and her hands went wandering.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, interrupting her.

"When I get nervous, I just need to have you," she murmured, nibbling his neck.

Sherlock chuckled. "Like outside the bathrooms at the TELSAs. Not a good idea right now, Violet. Anyone could walk in at any time."

"I think there's a lock on the door," Violet said, turning around to look at it.

"No, I can't really get in the mood here," Sherlock remarked, giving Violet a peck on the check, which he hoped gave her the message that her amorous attentions should cease now.

"That's not what your penis says," she whispered, taking in the evidence with a quick rub of her hand on the outside of Sherlock's trousers.

Sherlock guided her hand away. "No."

Violet pretended to pout. "What else can I do to relax?"

"Have a drink," suggested Sherlock. "One glass of champagne can't hurt."

"I hate champagne."

She sighed and leant against Sherlock, playing with his shirt buttons.

"Thanks for signing those autographs. I really didn't expect you to," she said.

"But you waved me over."

"Yes, but I didn't expect you to come over."

"So you asked, but thought I'd say no."

"Yes."

"So I could've refused."

"Of course."

Sherlock breathed out in exasperation. "Never in my entire life have I ever done anything that was as utterly meaningless as that."

Violet straightened up and glared at him. "Sherlock, that's a bit harsh! You signing those photos actually meant a lot to those girls!"

"Morons, the lot of them."

Violet rose out of Sherlock's lap and stood over him.

"You're a fucking arrogant prick, do you know that?"

"Violet!"

She walked to the other side of the dressing room and grabbed at her phone. Turning to Sherlock she said, "Stop thinking you're better than everyone."

"I am better than everyone."

"You need a lesson in what it means to be a good person."

"I didn't think you were talking about being a good person."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about being better than everyone and you're talking about being a good person. Two different things entirely."

"Can I add wanker to that list?"

There was a gentle knock at the door, sparing Sherlock from receiving any further abuse.

Violet opened the door and was greeted by Nancy once more.

"Okay, we'll just run through a few things," Nancy began, striding into the room.

Sherlock readjusted his sitting position, tugging at his jacket in an effort to hide his half-erection which had rapidly started to wan the moment Violet had added wanker to her list of insults.

"Now," she looked up at Violet and paused. "Is everything going smoothly? You don't have any make-up on yet?"

"Oh, yes. Bonnie will be back in a minute."

"Is that the redhead or the blonde?"

"The blonde," Violet answered, wondering why the question was relevant.

"Good. The redhead will need a hand leaving here this evening," Nancy stated impassively. "Now, we have you down for having worked on Regency Road, Catherine Hilderness and it's just been announced you'll be playing Satis in the Anuket's Children sequel. Is that true?"

"Yes, Rise of the Five."

"Ah good, because we only had that as a rumour up until Monday. That's great. Tevish has a surprise for you."

"Good surprise or bad surprise?" asked Violet worriedly.

"Ah, nothing to panic about. Tevish's jokes are quite anaemic."

_They'd better be,_ Sherlock thought to himself.

"So, as you know, the guest interviews are not scripted. Tevish just likes to chat, and he likes to keep it fresh. So relax and have a good time, hence the champers! I'll come and grab you after the third break. But Bevan will give you 30 minute, 15 minute and five minute warnings. What did you want in your coffee mug?"

"Not coffee?"

"Would you like coffee?"

"No, just...oh, yes, tea would be lovely. English breakfast, white with one, thank you."

"I don't think we've ever done tea before. That's fine. I'll see you in 90 minutes then. Better get your make-up girl back here before she goes the way of your .. ah... assistant."

Nancy left as Violet turned to Sherlock and said, "Fuck me, what's Mandi up to? Sherlock could you...?"

"I'm on it," he muttered, rising from his chair.

He opened the door as Violet said, "And can you ask Bonnie to come back?"

"Anything else?"

"No. Just..." Violet pulled Sherlock toward her by his lapels and kissed him. "Sorry. Again."

"We'll finish talking about my arrogant prick status later," he said. "After I investigate the case of the drunken personal assistant."

Sherlock turned and preceded along the corridor, moving aside to let a young man dressed in all black, with black hair and black eyeliner pass him in the opposite direction carrying a packet of cigarettes. Violet was still leaning in her doorway watching Sherlock depart when the man remarked to her, "Hey, you're that chick off that show!"

Sherlock turned back to look. Violet called after the young man, "Hey, you're that guy in that band!"

"Touché!" He called back.

Sherlock continued on. _Violet was flirting with a musician sporting makeup._

It was party hour in the green room. Some of the band members and their roadies were playing acoustic guitar while Bonnie filmed them on her phone. Mandi was laughing hysterically in the corner with some tall, lanky guy.

Bonnie noticed Sherlock first, and all he did was raise his eyebrows at her which she correctly understood as _You've been summoned_. She held up one figure to signal _Wait a minute_ as the songsters launched into their final chorus. Sherlock walked over to Mandi, who stopped laughing the instant she saw him, or more accurately, the expression on his face.

"Violet would like to see you," he said.

"Oh, Sherlock," she said breathlessly. "This is Hendryk...oh, I've forgotten how to pronounce your surname again!"

"Hendryk Luchford," the man said, extending his hand, which Sherlock unenthusiastically shook. "Oh, Sherlock Holmes," Hendryk realised. "Violet Hunter's boyfriend."

"Yes," said Sherlock. Then he turned to Mandi and said, "Coming?"

"Do you think I could introduce myself to Violet?" Hendryk asked. "Just saw her as Catherine. Brilliant! Bloody good job. Could I meet her?"

"I suppose so," Sherlock said, sighing.

He turned and left, assuming the relevant people were going to follow him. He passed a couple more band members in the corridor, obviously coming back from having a smoke outside as the smell on their clothes indicated. Sherlock felt like going outside again. There was definitely something about being around the entertainment industry that made him want to escape into the nicotine-filled air.

Violet was talking on her phone when Sherlock re-entered her dressing room.

"Not until eleven. Can you stay up that late? ... Good, so around ten. ...No, I'll have eaten. We probably won't be back til eight or nine, but I'll stay over in the spare room if that's okay?"

Sherlock frowned. Who was she talking to?

"Okay, good. Bye Dad! See you then."

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked as Violet ended the call.

"Thought I'd watch the Late Show with my Dad tonight once we're back in London since you'll be out til all hours. So I'll just stay over there. That all right?"

"You won't be home when I get in?" Sherlock asked, retrieving his coat from the coat rack and shrugging it on.

"You probably won't get in til...oh, hi!" Violet said to the influx of people into her dressing room.

"Violet, this is Hendryk and his manager Rosa. And this is Melon from Beige Apple," said Mandi, slurring slightly.

"Hello, Hendryk, nice to finally meet you!" Violet said, shaking Hendryk's hand. "Rosa, hi!"

As the rest of the greetings were made, Sherlock slipped out, hopefully unnoticed by Violet. He was wrong of course. He had chain smoked four cigarettes by the time Bevan had been sent to fetch him twenty minutes later.

"Who's still in her dressing room?" Sherlock asked when Bevan had informed him that Violet was looking for him.

"Her make-up artist, her assistant, Mr Luchford and two members of Beige Apple."

Sherlock seethed internally.

"In that case, could you please surreptitiously obtain the bottle of scotch for me and bring it out here?"

"Oh, I was asked to ..."

"And you did give me that information. Well done. And now the scotch. Thank you."

Bevan returned five minutes later with a glass of scotch. "Ms Hunter said I was to give you one glass only. I'm so sorry."

_I am an adult,_ Sherlock thought as he made his way to an outdoor setting. He pulled out two chairs: one for sitting on, the other for propping his legs up on. He continued smoking and sipping his scotch and pondering his next movements in regard to the child sex trafficking ring. Twenty minutes and three more cigarettes later he was joined by Bonnie.

"Ah," said Sherlock, eyeing her with a sly smile. "Have you come to fetch me, or to pour me another glass of scotch?"

"Neither," she said pleasantly. And she pulled out a chair next to Sherlock and plonked herself down on it.

"I'm on a break. Do you have a light?" she asked brightly.

Sherlock pulled out his lighter feeling a bit annoyed at the interruption to his solitude. Although he did assume Bonnie would sit there on her phone texting or whatever.

"Have you finished with Violet?" he asked.

"Yeah. They're all in the green room now."

There was a moment's silence before Bonnie ventured, "So how long have you and Violet been together?"

Sherlock sighed, then answered, "A while."

"How did you get together?" Bonnie probed.

"Google it. The interview will be there somewhere," Sherlock replied abruptly.

"My God!" Bonnie exclaimed, pulling out her phone and shaking her head. "Asshole," she muttered under her breath.

Sherlock ignored her, but a few minutes later she interrupted his thoughts again.

"Do you like blondes?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Blondes. Most of the women you've had sex with are blondes."

"How did you reach that conclusion?"

"This website."

Sherlock tutted and stood up, flicked his cigarette into the ashtray on his way past, and re-entered the studio as Bonnie sniggered behind him.

Sherlock made his way back to Violet's dressing, relieved to hear silence as he opened the door. He was disappointed to find Violet not there. Only Mandi was in there, slumped in the armchair Sherlock had been sitting in before.

"Where's Violet?" he asked.

"Ah...green room," replied Mandi feebly. "I really don't feel well."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and poured himself another scotch. Violet's phone buzzed from her bag, so he went over to it and checked the message.

DANNY: [ All the best for the show today! ]

Mandi watched him through narrow, drunken eyes.

"If Violet's make-up is all done, you should tell her to fire the slut!"

"What?" Sherlock asked, returning Violet's phone to her bag and sitting down in the chair next to Mandi.

"Bonnie. She's been tweeting about you all afternoon. It's so unprofessional."

"About me, or Violet?"

"Both, but mostly you. She's got the hots for you for some unknown reason," Mandi said in distaste. Then she moaned again and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Perhaps you should go to the bathroom."

"I think I will," Mandi replied faintly, and left Sherlock alone.

He tapped his fingers on the side of the chair out of frustration then decided to go and see Violet in the green room.

The room seemed even noisier and busier than before, if that was possible. The TV screen showed Tevish interviewing Hendryk. Sherlock quickly scanned the room for Violet. She wasn't there. _Fuck! I hope I haven't missed her interview, _he thought in a panic.

"Where's Violet?" he asked Bevan, who was replenishing the muffin tray.

"Oh, she'll be waiting to go on. She's in the other green room."

"There's another green room?"

"Oh," replied Bevan laughing. "It's more of a wall closer to the stage entrance. When Tevish says 'and next up we have Violet Hunter,' they show her sitting on the couch in the green room, but actually it's just a couch against the wall. They don't like to show the guests in the actual green room because...well, you can see why!" he finished, looking about him at the noise and chaos of the room.

When Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, Bevan hastily added, "I can take you to her if you like. As long as you don't bring anyone else. One person sitting next to her is fine."

"Thank you," Sherlock answered.

He followed Bevan out, along the winding corridors. Bevan opened another door, revealing the backstage area and off to one side sat Violet, looking up at a TV screen overhead. The sound was turned off, but you could hear the audio from the studio floor around the corner.

She saw him and her face lit up. Seated next to her was a skinny punk-looking guy sipping a bottle of water. Violet waved Sherlock over and put her finger to her lips. He took a seat next to her as the punk made room for him.

Shortly, Nancy the assistant producer round the corner with a cameraman.

"Sorry, just come over here please," she said in a hushed voice, gesturing to Sherlock.

He stood up and was waved over by Bevan.

"Just smile and wave," Nancy said to Violet and the punk.

Sherlock could hear Tevish announcing, "And up next we have Milo the fire eater, followed by the beautiful Violet Hunter! Stay tuned!"

Violet waved and the punk saluted the camera until Nancy said, "And we're clear. You can sit back down now," she advised Sherlock.

Violet grabbed his hand when Sherlock sat down. The fire eater followed a stage manager backstage to prepare for his segment.

"Sorry," Violet whispered. "I didn't know they would be bringing me here, otherwise I would've told you to come."

"That's all right," he whispered, and he kissed her on her cheek.

"I think you can't stay here though," she said.

"I'll go back and watch it in the green room with the party people. Good luck, or break a leg or whatever you're supposed to say."

"Just a kiss is fine," Violet answered, leaning in for a kiss on the lips from Sherlock.

Sherlock left Violet and reluctantly returned to the green room. He stood in front of the telly because he couldn't hear it over the noise of the 'people'.

"Quiet please," he said in a commanding voice, staring at the screen.

The room went quiet for about two seconds until a roadie remarked, "They've gone to a commercial break you fuckin' 'tard!"

Sherlock looked back and narrowed his eyes at the man.

Violet stood nervously backstage, watching the fire eater on the monitor and wincing. _How do they do that?_ There was applause and then Nancy ushered Violet to the mock corridor at the entrance to the studio set.

Tevish began his introduction. "My next guest is a very beautiful and talented actress. She just recently won a TELSA for her role as the feisty teenage mother in Regency Road. She's currently starring on our small screens in the classic tale of Catherine Hilderness, and we will soon be seeing her on the big screen as she crosses the pond to star in a blockbuster Hollywood action movie. Let's find out all about that. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Violet Hunter!"

.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter got so long that I had to bump the actual interview segment into the next chapter! In the meantime, go watch some late night chat (talk) shows to get in the mood...

As always, reviews=free love!


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N:** Thank you for the favourites and follows. I'm feeling the love!

Please take the time to review, too - it really keeps me motivated to write! Thanks to those who have!

_The Late Show_ interview is written as a transcript rather than a narrative so it will flow faster as you read it, much like the chat show would be. And put on your best Scottish accent for Tevish Stewart!

* * *

**Chapter 52**

Violet rested her head in her hands. She rubbed her face and looked over at Sherlock. His face was slightly flushed and he looked back at her, his expression guilty yet mildly curious about what form his punishment was about to take.

Mostly he just looked drunk.

"My assistant and my boyfriend both drunk backstage on the Late Show," Violet said softly.

"I wasn't drunk. I only had three."

Violet gave Sherlock a look.

"Well, I'm drunk now, because I was locked up in your dressing room with nothing but a bottle of scotch. I wasn't drunk when I hit that guy though. I would've done that sober."

Violet sighed and looked over at the bed where they had dumped Mandi upon returning to the hotel.

"It's not even 6pm," she said to herself. _Mandi is already passed out. So much for clubbing._ "So you missed my segment."

"I saw some of it," Sherlock replied sheepishly. He stood up from the couch and approached Violet, kneeling down in front of her where she sat in an armchair by the window. "I'm sorry, Violet. But I couldn't hear and he wouldn't shut up. And then he was just ill-mannered."

"Ill-mannered? So you just punched him?"

"No, I politely asked him to stop playing guitar while you were on. He said you were a right skank anyway, so I grabbed him by his jacket and yanked him out of his chair and demanded an apology. I also said there was no smoking inside and he flicked his cigarette at my face."

Sherlock's expression grew concerned as he touched his jaw. "Do I have a mark here?"

Violet caressed his jawline where he had touched it. "No. There's nothing there. Did he really call me a skank?"

"Yes."

"Were you defending my honour?"

"Was that the right thing to do?"

"In a pub, perhaps. Backstage on a TV chat show - there may be other ways."

"Well I shoved him backwards into the wall, then he came at me swinging. He missed of course. You know how skilled I am in the ring."

"And then you punched him?"

Sherlock stood up and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Just once. In the stomach. He went down like a sack of potatoes. When I looked back up at the TV you were saying something about me being underwhelmed."

Violet smiled and looked up at him. "I imagined you sitting out the back, feeling thoroughly bored, not having a brawl."

"Well, I missed the rest of the interview because security came in and marched me to your dressing room. I had nothing to do in there except drink."

He turned and walked back over to the couch, stretching out on it and yawning.

"Meanwhile Mandi was throwing up in the toilets," Violet murmured, giving her unconscious friend a dirty look.

Sherlock waved his hand limply at Violet. "You looked beautiful by the way."

"Don't crawl back now," she said. She bent over and tugged at the straps on her heels, pulling them off. "I'm going to fire the lot of you."

"You can't fire me. I'm your boyfriend. Besides," he added, resting his head back on a cushion and turning to Violet, "Tevish isn't going to make a fuss. He needs me."

"That roadie could press charges."

"No he won't," Sherlock stated, turning his head back and closing his eyes.

"Why not?"

"He had all kinds of drug paraphernalia on him," Sherlock began in a bored tone, "His muso friends wouldn't let him bring that kind of attention to them."

"Well as long as you've got it all sorted, don't worry about my embarrassment."

Violet stood up and unzipped the dress she had worn both to and from the venue.

"Have I embarrassed you?" Sherlock asked in a small voice as he watched Violet step out of her dress.

She glanced at him, and grabbed at a pair of jeans draped over a chair. "A little."

Sherlock brooded while Violet continued dressing in jeans and a t-shirt. "It's unwanted and negative publicity," she said.

"There wasn't any press there," Sherlock sulked.

"These days there doesn't have to be press anywhere. Just people with smart phones and twitter accounts."

"Speaking of twitter accounts, your make-up artist is in love with me."

"Bonnie?"

"Yes."

"And you know this how?"

"Twitter."

Violet ran her hands through her hair and pulled at the roots in frustration.

"Fire the whole fucking lot of you," she said again in frustration.

At this point Mandi started stirring from the bed. "Do you two ever shut up?" she moaned.

"And as for you!" Violet said, raising her voice and directing her fury at Mandi.

Sherlock closed his eyes again, grateful for the distraction.

"Oh, don't," Mandi cried out, weakly. "My head's throbbing."

"What were you doing drinking so much!" Violet yelled.

"Oh stop it. It was a party," Mandi said defensively.

This response only served to wind up Violet even more. Sherlock pulled the cushion out from under his head and placed it on top of his face in preparation for the onslaught.

"It wasn't a fucking party! It was waiting backstage ever so fucking patiently while the fucking TALENT has a fucking interview on national - fucking - television!"

Mandi groaned and buried her head under a pillow. Violet looked at them both. Her boyfriend and her bestfriend/assistant, both drunk, both hiding from her under pillows. If her blood wasn't boiling so much she may have laughed.

Mandi's phone began ringing from inside her purse on the small hotel table.

"My phone," came Mandi's muffled voice.

Violet retrieved the phone, noting the caller I.D.

"It's Nancy," she said. "You two shut the fuck up."

_Happy to, _thought Sherlock.

"Hello, Violet speaking," said Violet into the phone. She listened for a moment then said, "Yes, just a little," as she looked over at Mandi's lifeless figure. "Oh does he?" she asked. "That's fine. I'll speak to him." She waited a beat. "Oh, hello Tevish... Yes, we're all fine...I would love to... early in the new year, after March possibly. Oh...Sherlock? Sure, I'll put him on."

On hearing his name, Sherlock stretched out his hand for the phone, keeping the cushion on his head for safety reasons. Violet slapped the phone into his palm.

"Yes?" he said in his usual baritone into the phone underneath the cushion.

Violet walked over to the bed and lay down on it alongside Mandi. She pulled the pillow from Mandi's head and placed it underneath her own. She lay there staring at the ceiling and listening to Sherlock's side of his conversation with Tevish. A minute or so later, Sherlock held out the phone. When no one took it from his hand, he let it drop to the floor. He remained motionless on the couch. Violet sat up.

"What did he want?" she asked Sherlock.

"Told you he needs me," came Sherlock's bored voice from underneath the cushion. "He wanted to make sure we weren't upset about the 'incident', well me specifically, and if I was happy with your segment."

"If _you_ were happy?"

"Yes. I'm happy if you're happy. Wait a minute." The cushion tumbled off as Sherlock sat up and looked over at Violet on the bed. "Were you happy with the way the interview went?"

"Thanks for asking. Yes. It was great. Quite pleasant in fact. Tevish is easy to chat to. He's funny."

"Oh good," Sherlock commented. He rubbed his hands through his hair and stated, "I'm hungry. Anything to eat?"

Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Efficient hotel," he muttered, rising from the couch.

"I didn't order anything," Violet remarked, lying back down.

Sherlock opened the door to a chirpy-looking make-up artist holding two bottles of red wine.

"Party time!" Bonnie exclaimed, striding in past Sherlock, holding up the bottles.

She paused and looked about the room. "Who killed the Violet Hunter entourage?"

"We've got a train to catch," Sherlock said suddenly, feeling slightly awkward in Bonnie's presence since he had read her tweets earlier.

"Only if Mandi's fine to stay," Violet said, getting up from the bed.

Mandi raised her hand. "I'm fine!"

"Great!" said Bonnie. "The party-gals are rockin' on!"

"Good for you," Violet said impassively, looking around for her boots.

"We've been invited to a party in Beige Apple's hotel room. They're two floors up - did you know?" Bonnie said gleefully.

"No, I didn't," Violet answered.

Sherlock busied himself gathering up his things, of which there were few.

Mandi sat up suddenly. "Did someone say party?"

"Mandi take it easy, tonight yeah?" Violet said to her. "Have dinner first at least. Bonnie can you make sure she does?"

"Of course! Don't worry about us," she responded, retrieving two wine glasses from the mini bar, and trying to squeeze past Sherlock in order to place them on the table.

Sherlock backed away further than necessary, eager to avoid any physical contact with his admirer. Thoughts of "cute, clever and funny", "rude but sexy" and "arrogant but highly f$*kable" went through his mind: the highlights of Bonnie's not-so-cryptic tweets about her "celebrity client's boyfriend."

Sherlock looked at his watch. "I'll phone down for a cab. We should be able to catch the 6:50 train back to London if we leave in the next ten minutes."

"Good. Well I'm ready!" Violet exclaimed, looking about for any forgotten items.

* * *

"I'm completely sober. It's been about four hours since my last drink," Sherlock remarked upon entering his flat after Violet had suggested he skip going out for the case later.

She suspected he was still slightly tipsy because all he wanted to do on the two hour train ride from Cardiff to London was to make out. Violet refused him of course, stating it was too openly public and that she wanted to keep a low profile from now on.

But now that they were back home he began dashing about here and there "looking for papers" he said. So she ignored him, repacked some things for the overnight stay at her dad's, then ordered a cab to take her there.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then," she said as he rushed by her for the dozenth time. "Sherlock, I'm going!"

"Hmm?" he said, his mind distracted.

"I said I'm going to have an affair!"

"Oh good. See you later," he said, rushing off into the bedroom.

"Asperger's," she muttered, recalling something John had said once.

She got halfway down the stairs when loud footfalls above her signalled Sherlock's rapid descent.

"Violet!" he called.

She stopped and waited.

"You're going with saying goodnight!" he said, sounding wounded.

Wearily Violet said, "Goodnight Sherlock."

They kissed, and when Sherlock pressed her gently against the stairwell wall and groped her breast she pushed him away.

"Taxi's outside," she said. "Be careful tonight won't you?"

"Always. Enjoy watching the show!" he said. And then his mind was siezed by another idea. "Bye!" he said, hurrying up the stairs again.

* * *

Tevish: My next guest is a very beautiful and talented actress. She just recently won a TELSA for her role as the feisty teenage mother in Regency Road. She's currently starring on our small screens in the classic tale of Catherine Hilderness, and we will soon be seeing her on the big screen as she crosses the pond to star in a blockbuster Hollywood action movie. Let's find out all about that. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Violet Hunter!

(Violet enters the set and waves to the audience. Tevish walks over to her and gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her directs her to an armchair. She sits down giving the audience one more wave as Tevish takes his seat behind the desk.)

Violet: I've never done a late night talk show before.

Tevish: Never?

Violet: No, you're my first.

Tevish: Well I promise I'll be gentle then.

Violet: Will you?

Tevish (deadpans): No. Brutal, brutal. You're going to be curled up in a tight ball by the end of it.

Violet: I never would've thought that about you.

Tevish: Really? Have you never watched the show?

Violet: I got the impression you were like a little cuddly kitten.

Tevish: A kitten? What show have you been watching? I think you've been watching the wrong station, luvee. That one for the kids, with the stuffed animals that come to life, and the hosts always wearing overalls, so they can splash paint about and put masking tape on everything. Did you think you were on that show?

Violet: A bit. I mean, you had the puppet thing.

Tevish: The puppet thing?

Violet: Years ago. What happened to it?

Tevish: Of you have watched the show.

Violet: On Youtube.

Tevish: On Youtube? Am I on Youtube? (Looks at audience, they all shout yes.) Did you see the thing my ex-wife posted? (Laughter) (to Violet) Are you on Youtube?

Violet: A bit, well the shows are.

Tevish: Do you check? I mean there's always fans splicing together amusing scenes about TV stars with pop music in the background. Have you seen those?

Violet: I did see one. It must be fairly new. One of me as Catherine but they've dubbed Christa's voice over her.

Tevish: Oh! One of her charming rants!

Violet: Yes, the sweary one. Well, as much as you can swear on telly.

Tevish: Well that's clever isn't it?

Violet: Not really.

Tevish: Not clever?

Violet: Well, not original.

Tevish: So what would you like to see the fans do for you on Youtube? What would be your desire, your wish for fans to do to you, Violet Hunter, on Youtube?

Violet: I guess I haven't really thought about it. I haven't done a lot for them to...

Tevish (interrupting): But you've got that little film coming up.

Violet: The small one, yes.

Tevish: Just a small part. You see I picked this up from my local comic book store.

Violet: Oh God.

Tevish: Yes, yes! Oh God. Take a look at this. (shows audience the illustration of Apis and Satis embracing) Will that be in the film?

Violet (smiling slyly): I don't know. I can't say.

Tevish: Because if I was a teenage boy, and I was once, believe me, then I would be looking forward to that particular scene in the movie. Know what I'm saying?

Violet: I'm sure you would.

Tevish: Well I'm an adult, and I'm saying, I'm looking forward to this scene in the movie.

Violet: Big Joseph Irkhardt fan, are you?

Tevish: Yes! He was on here last year. Did you see?

Violet: No, I didn't.

Tevish: (whispering confidentially) You'll find it on Youtube. Well, he's a nice chap. American. Not that that excludes one from being a nice chap. I enjoyed our little talk. He gave me a stetson. It's (looks around behind the desk). Well it's not here. I'm sure I've put it in my billiard room or dress-up box or somewhere. Have you worked with him before?

Violet: No, never. I've never worked in film before. This will be my first.

Tevish: Never?

Violet: No.

Tevish: Bit of a baptism of fire then. Never worked in film before and now you're in a pretty big budget blockbuster action movie. Are you sure they asked you?

Violet: Sometimes I wonder.

Tevish: Could be a bit awkward, showing up on set. (puts on girl voice) Hi, I'm Violet Hunter. (American accent) Who? Not on the list! (Own voice) Do I sound like you?

Violet: Not really.

Tevish: I suck at accents. You don't though. You had everybody fooled you were from the north of England, when really you were living it up at Buckingham Palace.

Violet: According to some reports, yes.

Tevish: So, big movie. First time?

Violet: Yes. A bit scary.

Tevish: A first time for everything for you?

Violet: It's a bit like that.

Tevish: So how am I doing so far? Too rough? Too gentle? I can slow down if you like?

Violet: No, no, the pace is fine. You're concentrating on yourself a bit too much though.

Tevish (mock incredulity): Yes, that's what my ex-wife said. Are you sure you haven't seen that video on Youtube?

Violet: Quite sure.

Tevish: They have. (Turning to the audience). Bastards! Get out! The lot of ya!" (Back to Violet) Now we're seeing a lot of you this last week with your new mini series. How's that going for you?

Violet: Good. Fine. I've only watched the first two episodes myself. I'll be watching last night's when I get back to London.

Tevish: You've only watched the first two episodes. But you're in it!

Violet: When you're making it, you don't necessarily get to see how it's all edited together. I shot all my scenes together, but they've edited them into all three episodes. And I missed the pre-screening.

Tevish: Because you were in New York?

Violet: Yes, so I had to watch it on...

Tevish: Youtube.

Violet: ..iPlayer.

Tevish: And what did you think?

Violet: It was very beautifully done.

Tevish: Well, you have to say that - you're in it.

Violet: I mean the editing.

Tevish: And you understood it?

Violet: Well, yes. What's not to understand?

Tevish (turning to the audience): Did you understand what was going on? (Mixed responses from the audience) Well, some of them did, and some of them are half-wits. Ignore them. You know, I did get a bit confused. There were so many Catherines. Did you ever get confused on set? 'Catherine you're wanted on set!'

Violet: They didn't call us all 'Catherine'.

Tevish: But why so many?

Violet: Three is many?

Tevish: Just the one would do.

Violet: But she goes from aged eighteen to sixty.

Tevish: Couldn't they just stick a rubber nose on you. Couple of wrinkles here and there?

Violet: I think Ursula Aldman is amazing in it. In everything she's done, really.

Tevish: Yes, she is. She was on the show last month. Had nice things to say about you (whispers 'Bitch!'). But the story. It seemed a bit...fragmented. I mean, one minute she's sixty and the next eighteen. And if you got up and went to the loo like I did several times, when you came back she was thirty.

Violet: But it still flowed - if you were concentrating on it.

Tevish: Do you think I wasn't concentrating enough?

Violet: Well, some people just...don't.

Tevish: What people exactly? Talk show hosts?

Violet: Some...men.

Tevish: Oh. I think we both know who you're talking about now. (leans in). Should we talk about him? You know I just had a quick chat to him out the back. Very smart man. I'm talking about (whispers to the audience) the boyfriend. Very quick. Of course he's not here for work is he? Because I only took those paper clips from the office stationery cupboard to borrow. Was going to bring them back.

Violet (smiling): No, not work. No.

Tevish: So what does he think about all this?

Violet: Um, underwhelmed. Supportive, but not really phased by it all.

Tevish: Underwhelmed? Am I underwhelming?

Violet: Not you. The whole thing. The entertainment industry.

Tevish: That's a good thing, isn't it? You need people around you who are underwhelmed. To keep you grounded don't you? I have a dog who does that. 'Back from a show tonight are you, Tevish? Just interviewed Joseph Irkhardt? Well I've just shat in your best shoes for yer. Welcome home, prick!'. Is that what you get from...Sherlock? That's his name isn't it? Wonderful, sounds Scottish.

Violet (slightly thrown): I don't think...I mean, he's not at all like your dog... He hasn't...

Tevish: Taken a dump in your best shoes, for example.

Violet: I really don't know how to respond to that.

Tevish: Curled up in a ball. See, I told you, you would be by the end of it. Brutal I am.

Violet: I take back what I said about you being a kitten.

Tevish: Are you sure you haven't seen that video of me on Youtube?

Violet: It sounds like you want me to see it.

Tevish: I just think it could do with a few more hits. And comments. The comments themselves have a huge entertainment value. Have you ever read any comments made about you on social media? Are you on Twitter?

Violet: I was, but I deleted everything.

Tevish: Deleted everything?

Violet: I...just ...didn't like them.

Tevish: Didn't like what you tweeted?

Violet: No.

Tevish: But they were your tweets. How do you not like them?

Violet: I just thought, in the end, social media wasn't for me.

Tevish: It's hard to come up with a hashtag isn't it? Because most often, the humour is in the tag, not what you've actually said.

Violet: I think that was it. Hashtag anxiety.

Tevish: Hashtag anxiety! I like that! The next time I go for a check-up I'm going to tell my doctor that. Doctor Seuss...(to the audience) What? That's his name, you insensitive bastards! Doctor Seuss, I think I'm suffering from hashtag anxiety.

Violet (laughing): There's also hashtag envy.

Tevish: Yes! Got that too! Now how about Facebook? Can I be your friend?

Violet: I'm not on Facebook.

Tevish: You know, that's what you all say. All you celebrities who don't want to be my friend. I get it.

Violet: I'm just not on anything.

Tevish: You're not on anything.

Violet (smiling slyly): Social media.

Tevish: Oh! I just thought you were volunteering for a drug test.

Violet: Do you do that on this show?

Tevish: Well we can start. I don't know. Some of my previous guests give me pause.

Violet: Paws?

Tevish: No, not, (he gestures with clawed hands)...oh no, never mind. We were talking about drugs.

Violet: Were we?

Tevish: Oh, look. I don't know. Sometimes I get lost myself and I'm just the damn host! (He throws his notes over his shoulder).

Violet: So, let's talk about you.

Tevish: Really? Because nobody's ever said that before.

Violet: You could probably do with a therapist then.

Tevish: Now that has been said to me before. What about you then?

Violet: Do I have a therapist?

Tevish: Why not?

Violet: No.

Tevish: No therapist? No social media platforms? Then how do you get feedback? Oh, we've been through that - the boyfriend, but he's slightly underwhelmed. Don't you need people around you who can give you a bit of a lift?

Violet: I have that. Friends, family...

Tevish: Brothers and sisters?

Violet: Just a step-brother.

Tevish: You're an only child then?

Violet: Yes.

Tevish: So am I! You know our lives are practically identical!

Violet: I can see that.

Tevish: We could have been separated at birth.

Violet: I can see there would be good reason for that.

Tevish: In fact I could probably take your place as her (holds up comic again).

Violet: Yes!

Tevish: D'ye think anyone'd notice?

Violet: You might be taller, but apart from that...

Tevish: I think you're just saying things now. But in all seriousness - when are you going to start filming? Because I heard they've already started. They haven't started without you have they?

Violet: They have. Principal photography started two weeks ago, but they're not scenes I'm in. I'll be off to Australia next month to start training, and...

Tevish: Australia?

Violet: Yes. They have a studio in Brisbane and the external city scenes will be shot in Sydney.

Tevish: Really? Have you ever been abroad? Well, you were in New York, so I guess that counts.

Violet: Yes. I had a holiday in L.A and was in New York two weeks ago. I went to Australia last year in fact.

Tevish: A return visit?

Violet: Yes. I'm really looking forward to it.

Tevish: And you know they do speak a form of English there, a quaint dialect called Aussie, so you should be fine getting along.

Violet: Ah, yes.

Tevish: Just watch out for those wee hoppity things.

Violet: Kangaroos?

Tevish: Yeah! They're pretty vicious I hear.

Violet: I'll keep that in mind, when I'm ... er... out and about shopping.

Tevish: So, filming for how long?

Violet: A couple of months, and then I'll be back here for Christmas.

Tevish: And what do you do for Christmas. Is it a big celebration in your neck of the woods?

Violet: Family and friends, over a few days. It's all pretty quiet now. It's quite different from when you're a child isn't it?

Tevish: No. I'm still up at 5am, waiting fer Santa. Lump of coal in my stocking again. How about you? Does Violet Hunter get a pressie or a lump of coal? Naughty or nice list?

Violet: I think I'm on the nice list.

Tevish: Are you sure about that?

Violet: Quite sure!

Tevish: Because there was that picture on the internet.

Violet: I don't know what you mean.

Tevish: The one of the three of you. You know. In the club...on the dancefloor. This one...

(He flashes up a picture of cartoon characters Huey, Dewey and Louie). Eh? Eh? How about that?

Violet (laughing): I think I actually look good in that outfit.

Tevish (outraged): What are you talking about - you're not wearing any pants!

Violet (still laughing): I really don't know where you get your information from.

Tevish (in a stage whisper): The internet! Shh! Don't tell anyone! They'll only spread rumours.

Violet: I promise.

Tevish: You know I heard a rumour about you.

Violet: Oh?

Tevish: That you might be in a romance-thriller with Alex Breville. Is that true?

Violet: There's talk.

Tevish: What kind of talk? Can you talk? Will we get the scoop? (Leans in) You can just tell me.

Violet (laughing): No, it's early days yet. There's nothing much to report.

Tevish: But will you do it?

Violet: I'm yet to see the script. I don't know.

Tevish: So you're at the stage in your career where you can say yes or no to scripts. Don't you have to audition anymore?

Violet: I've auditioned on tape. That still happens.

Tevish: But have you ever been knocked back?

Violet: I had a couple of auditions before I was on Regency Road. I didn't get a call back for either of them.

Tevish (incredulously): Really? What losers knocked you back?

Violet: They were both in Manchester. One was a play, the other a TV drama.

Tevish: I don't believe it! Tell us who they were with so we can have a laugh at them.

Violet: I shouldn't say. It wouldn't be very professional of me.

Tevish: Of course you can say! You're going to be in Hollywood! Let's have a laugh.

Violet: I shouldn't.

Tevish: Well, when you return from Hollywood I hope we can have you back on the show again. Tell us all about it!

Violet: I definitely will.

Tevish: It's been lovely having you on the show. All the best with the antelope thing (he holds up two fingers above his head).

Violet: Thank you, my pleasure.

Tevish: Ladies and gentlemen, please thank Violet Hunter!

* * *

Violet woke with a start. It was her phone. She felt slightly disoriented until she realised she was in the spare bedroom at her dad's place. Her phone was on a chair next to the bed. Bleary-eyed she picked it up. The caller I.D. said Greg Lestrade.

_Oh fuck. That can't be good._

She glanced at the bedside table as she answered the phone. 2:43am.

"Hello?"

"Violet. Greg. Sherlock home yet?"

"I'm - ah - no. What?" her brain was confused.

"Shit. He left almost an hour ago. "

"Left where?" Violet's brain shifted into gear at about the same time that her stomach dropped a couple of inches.

"Whitechapel. Look he's all right. Physically I mean..."

Violet swallowed hard as she sat up and swung her legs off the bed.

Lestrade continued. "His state of mind on the other hand. Look, can you just text me when he gets in? Let me know he got home safely."

"Greg, I'm not at home. I'm at my dad's, but I can..."

"You're not at home? Oh, fuck me. Did you two break up? Is that why he's..."

"Greg, what happened? We're fine. We're still together. Just tell me?"

"It was a case. Look, I have to get in there. They've just brought the bastards in. Just text me okay? I've just sent John round to your place."

"John, why? What..."

But Lestrade had hung up.

Violet hastily dialled Sherlock's number. It went straight through to messaging. Greg said he was all right, she tried to remind herself. She scrambled to put clothes on, debating whether to call a cab or John first.

Cab. They'd be there in fifteen minutes.

She gathered up her things, then scrawled a suitably vague note for her dad. He was used to her spontaneous and nutty decision-making. He didn't necessarily like it, but it wouldn't surprise him. She sat by the window in her dad's living room to keep an eye out for the taxi and dialled John's number.

"I'm on my way," he huffed by way of an answer.

"John, I'm not home. What's going on? Greg just called."

"Oh...hang on... Baker Street please, mate. Cheers. Violet, he's probably home then. Don't panic!"

"Well now I'm going to panic. What happened?"

"Some case he was working on. I thought you two were staying over in Cardiff tonight?"

"Change of plans. Sherlock wanted to get back. What case? The child sex trafficking case?"

"What? Was it? I thought Greg said kidnappers. Look, I dunno all of the details. Greg seems to think he's gone off the rails. What was he like when he left home?"

"Gone off the rails? Now you're fucking scaring me! What happened John?"

"Violet?" It was her dad.

"Hang on John," she said into the phone. "Dad," she said, standing up. "I have to get home."

"What's going on, Violet? It's almost three in the morning?"

"Just something Sherlock's working on. I have to go help."

"At three in the morning? Jesus Christ, what has this man got you doing?"

"Don't worry about it, Dad. I just..." she held the phone to her ear again. "John, I'll see you soon."

"Is he angry you came to stay here? Is that why you're here? Are you having a fight?"

"No, Dad!" said Violet exasperatedly. "I have to go."

She moved over to her father, who frowned and crossed his arms. She kissed him on his cheek and said, "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"No, call me tonight and let me know you got home safely. A cab, at three o'clock in the morning! Get the cab number and text it to me immediately."

"What?"

"Just do it, Violet."

Headlights through the window signalled the arrival of Violet's cab.

"Dad," she protested once more.

He walked over to the door and held it open for her, shivering slightly as the cool breeze snaked inside.

"Tomorrow," she reiterated as her dad sighed.

On the way over Violet tried ringing Sherlock again. It didn't ring. She thought about ringing Mrs Hudson to check if Sherlock was home yet. No, that would only send the landlady into a panic. And she'd be home before John would get there, since her dad's place was closer to Baker Street than John and Mary's.

Every minute that passed was like torture for Violet. _What did he do? Off the rails?_ He was clearly distracted when she left tonight, but in a good, case-focussed way, she thought. But this was the case he thought he'd fucked up. He was quite upset about that fact. If he thought it was heading that way again tonight perhaps he took crazy methods to ensure they didn't get away this time.

_But he's okay, Greg said. But why call John in? And why call John before ringing me? Why isn't he home yet? Whitechapel isn't that far._

Violet turned her phone over and over in her hand out of nervousness. To distract herself, she read through the messages she had received after her interview with Tevish Stewart was aired tonight. Lovely messages. One from Jake. He'd watched it. So he watched the TELSAs, and now her interview. Had he seen any of Regency Road or Catherine Hilderness? He had never come to any of her plays in the entire time she'd known him. A nice message from Danny. One from her step-brother, Ben. Several from Matt all throughout the interview. A well done from Alice. That was a complete surprise. Violet wondered what she made of her comment about deleting all her tweets? The tweets Alice had written on her behalf.

_Tweets. That's right, Bonnie was tweeting about us today. Well, I won't be hiring her again. What did she say?_ Violet launched her phone's twitter app and started searching for Bonnie's email address. Seemed like the easiest way to find her.

But before Violet had even found Bonnie's Twitter account, the cab arrived at Baker Street. She quickly paid the fare, unlocked the front door and raced upstairs, heart pounding.

The flat was still and quiet. She swiftly made her way to Sherlock's bedroom. Not there.

She rang John again.

"I'm here," he said as he answered, so she hung up.

She heard the downstairs door slam shut and John's hurried footsteps on the stairs. He strode into the living room, his face tired, his hair dishevelled.

"He hasn't come home yet," Violet said, subconsciously rubbing her arms. The flat was cold, but felt even colder under the circumstances. "Are you going to tell me now what happened tonight?"

"I got a call at about 2:30 from Greg asking, no demanding, I get over here now and see if Sherlock is all right. He'd just pulled him from a case. Some child kidnappers or something, holed up in a flat in Whitechapel. Sherlock, the bloody idiot-"

They both heard the front door again, and Violet took off out of the living room. She wasn't waiting for anybody. She almost collided with Sherlock as she rounded the corner on the stairwell.

"Violet!" he called out on surprise as she threw her arms around him. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"You!" she cried, pulling back. "What did you do?"

"What? What are you talking about? Why are you here at this hour? Didn't you stay at your dad's?"

"Greg called me."

Sherlock didn't comprehend for a second as they slowly made their way upstairs until he saw John standing in his doorway.

"He called me too," John said, crossing his arms and looking completely pissed off.

"Oh," said Sherlock reaching the top of the stairs.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Violet asked again.

"Can I have it?" John asked, holding out his hand.

"What?" asked Violet.

Sherlock calmly removed his coat and hung it on the back of the door. Then he reached underneath the back of his jacket and pulled out a gun. He held it out to John as Violet gasped. John grabbed it and hastily emptied it of its cartridges.

"Sherlock?" Violet asked faintly.

"And you loaded it," John said shaking his head. He was fuming.

"I'm going to have a shower," Sherlock said impassively and left Violet and John in the living room.

Violet had her hand over her mouth, tears swimming in her eyes. She watched as John stowed the gun under his jacket at the back, and the cartridges in his pocket. She was speechless.

"Where did he find it, Violet?" John asked her.

"I hid it in the laundry," she replied in a small voice.

"Better find a new hiding place for stuff," he said, making to leave.

"Are you going?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

Violet shrugged.

"I'll stay if you think he's not okay."

"I don't know. Don't you know?"

"Look, who knows with Sherlock? Sometimes he doesn't talk for days, other times he continues talking even when you're on the other side of the country. One day he's lying on his couch in pyjamas, the next he's climbing into taxis driven by serial killers. Why he decided to take my gun to confront kidnappers without backup I can't even guess at."

Violet almost made a choking sound in response, so John moved over to her and put his arms around her.

"Was he all right today?" he asked her gently.

She nodded, sniffing and wiping her tears away. She looked up at John. "Can you stay? Sleep in your old room - save you getting another taxi at this hour."

John breathed out and smiled wearily at Violet. "All right, I'll stay. You go be with him. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Thanks John."

John kissed Violet on her cheek and hurried upstairs, sending a text to Mary along the way.

With trepidation, Violet made her way to Sherlock's room. She stood, hesitating, outside the door to the ensuite listening to the sound of the shower. When she eventually opened it, Sherlock asked, "Coming in?"

"It's three-thirty."

Sherlock turned the taps off, so Violet grabbed his towel and handed it to him as he opened the shower door. He rubbed the towel over his hair first then preceded to dry the rest of his body, gazing at Violet all the while.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Never felt better," he replied, drying his back. "You?"

"No."

"Not okay?" Sherlock asked, hanging up his towel and closing the door slightly so he could grab his pyjamas from the hook behind the door. "How was the Late Show?"

"Sherlock, what happened?"

He stepped into his pyjamas bottoms as he said, "My homeless network identified a flat in Whitechapel as the latest place the sex traffickers had moved the girls to. I garnered entry and had a little chat before calling Lestrade."

"What was the gun for?" Violet asked as Sherlock pulled on his shirt.

Sherlock held two fingers to his temple and said, "To make a point."

"By holding a gun to someone's head?"

Sherlock turned off the bathroom light. "It was a convincing argument."

"And then the police came?"

"Eventually."

Sherlock pulled the bed covers down and sat down on the bed, while Violet remained where she was standing, arms crossed.

"Why was Greg so...upset?"

"He thought he had to pull me off the bastard."

"He thought you were going to shoot him?"

"Something like that."

"How did you find the gun?"

Sherlock gave Violet a condescending look. "Of course you'd hide it in a place you say I never go."

"Oh."

"The best place to hide something is in plain sight."

Sherlock pulled his legs in under the covers. "Coming to bed?" he asked.

Violet walked around to her side of the bed. "Would you have shot him?"

"Of course not. Is that what this is about? Is that why you and John were called. Because I'm pulling guns on people?"

"Greg seemed to think so," she answered as she climbed into bed.

"Oh. 'Greg'!" Sherlock repeated sarcastically.

"Greg Lestrade is another person who cares for you," Violet responded, sitting up and facing Sherlock.

"Why does he?"

"Why do any of us," Violet muttered, sliding under the blanket.

Sherlock pulled the blanket from Violet's upper half and scowled, "Is that what you're wearing to bed?"

He frowned at the baggy jumper and track pants she had donned in order to catch the taxi from her dad's place.

"I'm too tired to change," she murmured, pulling the blanket back up and facing away from Sherlock.

Sherlock tutted. "That's not very sexy."

"I'm not feeling very sexy right now."

Sherlock turned off the bedside lamp, then slid over to Violet, cuddling in close and wrapping his arms around her.

"You'll always be sexy to me," he murmured in her ear. "Underneath," he added, sliding his arms underneath her jumper and caressing her bare skin.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," Violet whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

There was silence in the dark bedroom for a minute until Sherlock added, "I'll wake you up for morning sex then. In about two hours."


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N:** Hello to the new followers! And especially to the marathon readers! Amazing!

x

* * *

**Chapter 53**

"Sherlock, are you awake?" It was John's voice that filtered through the bedroom door, jolting Sherlock from his sleep.

He needn't have worried about John just opening the bedroom door anymore. John knew very well that Sherlock had a girlfriend, and the likelihood of catching them in bed together if Sherlock wasn't already in the living area first thing in the morning was at about 100%.

"I'll be out in a minute," Sherlock called back.

His booming voice was enough to startle Violet from her slumber.

"What? Where are you going?" she asked, sleepily.

"Shh, go back to sleep. It's just John."

Sherlock climbed out of bed, and found his pyjamas. He quickly dressed, wrapping his dressing gown around himself. He was just about to leave the room, when he bent over Violet, kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry I worried you last night. I love you."

And he exited the room, without even considering whether or not Violet had heard him.

Violet had drifted back into a blissful sleep for a few minutes that ended abruptly with the sound of raised voices. She sat up, then quickly climbed out of bed. She found her dressing gown and pulled it on, opening the bedroom door a little. It was Greg Lestrade's voice she heard first.

"When I bring you onto a case, I don't expect you to go off on your own!" he was saying.

"Sometimes it's easier to continue, unhindered, Detective Inspector..."

"Unhindered? You mean by that small obstacle we call the law? You were brandishing an unlicensed firearm, Sherlock. In front of uniformed officers. You don't know how many breaches of the Standards of Professional Behaviour my conduct made in order to cover up that little fact. According to my report, you weren't even on the scene. I've stuck my neck out for you time and time again, and this is how you repay me."

"Repay you?" came Sherlock's voice. "By handing you four sex traffickers. Men who have alluded you for the last eighteen months. I found them for you in two weeks."

"As for the offenders - you're lucky the one you were threatening didn't identify you, nor does he speak English very well. I've had to say that I was the one holding a weapon to his temple. I've received a slap on the wrist for that. It could have been worse. And as for the weapon, _John_, I won't even ask why you've been able to keep your army standard issue. I can't keep doing this for you guys..."

"But you will, because you need me Lestrade."

"God help me, I do. But I'm reluctant to put you on any more cases, Sherlock, if you're going to go rogue on me. It's bad enough I have to battle your new-found celebrity status."

Violet cringed at Lestrade's words.

"That's hardly my fault," came Sherlock's voice.

"No, but you'll date who you wanna date."

Violet's stomach twisted uneasily and she shut the bedroom door, not wanting to hear anymore.

* * *

JOHN: [ We can order in if Sherlock isn't up to cooking tomorrow night. ]

VIOLET: [ It's all good. He has no cases now, so he's super focussed on finding the perfect recipe. ]

JOHN: [ Fantastic. See you tomorrow! What time? ]

VIOLET: [ 7 ]

"Sherlock!" Violet called, getting out of her armchair after sending her last text message to John.

She approached the unconscious figure on the couch. Sherlock didn't move.

"Sherlock! Dinner with John and Mary!"

"Oh is that tonight?" he yawned.

"Tomorrow night. Come on. We have to decide on a meal. I'll get the cookbooks. You ... just wake up, will you?"

"Oh. Bored," he remarked, sitting up. "I need a case."

"This is all you need for now," Violet called from the vicinity of the kitchen. "Here," she said, carrying the three cookbooks that they had over to the coffee table. "We can use the internet as well."

She retrieved Sherlock's computer from the living room table and placed it in front of him along with the books.

"Now, think of a main meal. What meat?" Violet asked, opening the first cookbook.

"We average over three hundred burglaries per month in Westminster alone."

"That's lovely. Now - a meat dish?"

"And two thirds of those are non-residential."

"Wonderful, Sherlock. Focus! Dinner remember? Beef, chicken, fish...no, not fish. Mary cooked us fish. We'd better make something different."

Sherlock scowled and picked up the second book. He opened a page at random and said, without looking at it, "This one."

Violet looked over at the page he held open. "Omelette?" she asked. "No. Come on, you're not taking this seriously."

"I can't think," he said, standing up and walking over to the kitchen. "I need a case, or a cigarette, or..."

"Tea?"

"No, something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger."

"Coffee?"

Sherlock tutted and put the kettle on. He then walked back into the living room and sank into his armchair. Leaning over to the cardboard box kept near the fireplace for fan mail, he retrieved a letter. He preceded to open it.

"_Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes_," he read.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading my fan mail."

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored!"

"We're supposed to be doing this."

"_'My sister and I are trapped in an attic'_. Boring," he said, tossing the letter over the back of his armchair.

He rummaged in the box for another letter.

"Sherlock! Oh, don't worry about it. I'll choose one, and I'll cook it."

"_'Dear Violet, I really loved the dress you wore to the TELSAs. Can you tell me who your,_' Rubbish!" he said, tossing the second one over his shoulder.

"You're making a mess! Sherlock! I'm going to cook and say you made it. How about that?"

"Then that would make you a liar," he said, sifting through the box again.

"Well, I'll have to tell John that you decided to not cook for him, and he'll be let down by you again."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and looked over at Violet. "What do you mean 'again'?"

"On top of the other times you've disappointed John."

"When have I disappointed John?"

"Whenever he's asked you to do something and you haven't, or asked you not to do something and you have."

"That's a bit of a generalisation."

"Okay - when he said don't take your own blood samples. Or, I don't know, don't use his gun, maybe."

"Oh, we're back to that again."

"I'm just asking you to cook."

Sherlock rose from his armchair, and walked into the kitchen. "All right, you choose and I'll cook."

Violet sighed. Why was one simple request such a chore to negotiate?

"Tea?" Sherlock called from the kitchen.

* * *

John turned to Sherlock as he sipped his wine. "So, Violet is turning you into something almost human. Does that mean you're going to lose your super-powers?"

Sherlock scoffed as he sliced into the rolled pork loin. "I don't know why everyone's making a big deal about it. I think it has more to do with everyone else's lack of skill more so than my own superior capabilities."

"Yes, well you have implied on numerous occasions that the world is full of idiots. So, do you and Violet take it in turns to cook?"

"No. If we're not ordering in or eating out then either I cook, or Violet reheats some rubbish in the microwave," he finished, waving his knife at the offending kitchen appliance.

"The microwave? So she doesn't know that you use it for..."

"Shh, John!"

John listened out for the girls. They were still chatting in the living room. Mary was showing Violet some photos from their honeymoon.

"Can I do anything to - er - help?" John asked as Sherlock sliced up some manchego. "Is that cheese?"

"Manchego cheese, John. From Spain. And yes, you can get some of that basil out. Place it on the tray with that sprig of thyme," he indicated with the tip of his knife.

"Why?"

"Don't question me. Just do it."

John watched as Sherlock sliced up something else which looked like jelly.

"What's that?"

"Membrillo."

"And where did you learn all this from?"

"A cookbook John! Wonderful invention. You're not putting the herbs on the tray."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry."

Sherlock preceded to roll up the pork loin as he looked about for something.

"Butcher's string," he muttered.

"Oh. Do you have any?"

"Third drawer," he said, indicating with a turn of his head.

Mary and Violet could hear Sherlock ordering John about the kitchen. Mary touched Violet's arm, and pointed toward the living room door. They rose from the couch, crept out and stood on the landing, watching the boys through the kitchen door.

"No, don't pull it so tightly!" Sherlock commanded as John tied the string around the roll of pork. "You'll make everything squish out the end."

"Well you didn't say how tightly to wind it."

Sherlock was at the oven removing the roasted pumpkin halves he was going to transform into pumpkin soup for starters. He had instructed John to tie up the pork, place it on top of the herbs and season it with olive oil and salt.

Sherlock glanced over at him as he placed the pumpkins on top of the stove. "Are you doing it?"

"Uh, yeah.."

"Have you done it?"

"Hang on!"

Violet and Mary both burst into laughter. Sherlock and John looked over at them.

"It's just that you look so domestic together!" Violet remarked.

"Yes, yes, very funny," said John irritably. "No, we're not a couple."

"Why don't you two make yourself useful and set the table," Sherlock remarked, placing the pork into the oven.

Violet and Mary took off downstairs to borrow Mrs Hudson's fancy table setting.

"We really should buy our own," Violet said to Mary on their way downstairs. "But I just think we're not going to have many dinner parties."

"They're the sort of things you get given at your engagement party, or as a wedding present," Mary commented, making Violet stop short. "Wrong thing to say?" Mary added sheepishly.

"He's not the type," Violet remarked.

"Not the type you'd marry, or...?"

"Not the type to ask me."

* * *

"That was - amazing," John commented, putting his knife and fork down and leaning back into his chair.

"It was delicious, Sherlock!" added Mary.

Violet reached over and took Sherlock's hand in hers, beaming at him. "You've outdone yourself this time," she said to Sherlock.

"It was nothing," Sherlock replied, uncharacteristically modest. He smiled. Something else he was good at and he could now show off about.

As Mary and John were leaving, Violet was able to pull John aside to ask him to look out for Sherlock while she was in Australia.

"Don't worry, Violet. The gun's at my place. Lestrade won't give him any dangerous cases. The most damage he can do is to die from boredom."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

"Why does she have to stay here?" Sherlock said angrily.

"Because it'll be too hard to find accommodation for just one week before we have to go to Australia. And besides, I feel as though it's my fault they broke up."

"How can it be your fault?"

"Because she stayed the night in Cardiff..."

"So?"

"He was expecting her back to accompany him to a party. It's only for a week, then she'll be gone. We both will."

"But he was cheating on her anyway, so technically it's not your fault."

"Well that all came out after he said it was over."

"He'd been cheating on her for at least a year."

"What?"

"I knew that the moment I met him at that theatre thing we went to. Remember? That was night we had sex in the Underground."

"Trust you to remember the sex part. You knew back then he was cheating on her?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"No, not to the rest of us mere mortals."

"She's better off without him, just not living here though."

"Her parents live too far away for her to commute here regularly. It's only for one week, Sherlock. She'll be upstairs - mostly."

Sherlock brooded for the rest of the morning, while Violet spent most of it upstairs in her old room consoling Mandi over her break up with Gavin.

Contrary to Violet's previous statement, Mandi didn't spend most of her time upstairs. She spent even more time on Sherlock's couch reading just about everything that was ever written about Violet and Sherlock on the internet - and telling them about it. And she took it upon herself to read all of their fan mail, stating that it was an insult to the fans that the letters should be burnt, unopened. Someone had to have the decency to read them.

Sherlock had to spend an hour of his time with her, trying to convince her why letters that presented themselves as cases were, in fact, not. Soon he'd had enough and just walked into his bedroom while Mandi was still talking. She told Violet she couldn't believe how rude he was.

Violet felt a little bit guilty that she'd brought tension to the flat during her and Sherlock's last week together before she left for Australia. She thought she could make it up to him in the bedroom, but some evenings he'd escaped to the lab just to avoid Mandi's company and by the time he came home, Violet was half asleep and not up to the sexual gymnastics she had imagined they would engage in by way of compensation.

"Oh no!" Mandi exclaimed one morning.

Violet had arrived home from the gym to find Sherlock out on a case and Mandi lounging comfortably in his armchair by the fire.

"What?" Violet asked, knowing it would be someone's tweet or someone's blog post saying they saw Sherlock scowling or something.

"This is at the hotel in Cardiff, when you were out on the balcony," Mandi said, turning her computer around so that Violet could see the screen.

"Oh, he's giving me a kiss. How sweet!" Violet remarked, walking into the kitchen to refill her water bottle.

"No, that's not it," corrected Mandi. "It's a series of photos showing Sherlock telling you off, then making you cry, then saying sorry and kissing you."

"That's still sweet. Not exactly how the dialogue went, but we can only be thankful it had a happy ending."

"No, wrong again," said Mandi.

"Well, I don't care to know then. It's obviously some made up fantasy."

"They're saying...," began Mandi.

"So you're going to tell me anyway," muttered Violet.

"...that Sherlock is a control freak and he dominates every aspect of your life. He's demanding and aggressive. He's punched fans, destroyed cameras and won't let you pose for photos or sign autographs. He pulled you away from your fans before your Late Show interview, he flirted with a girl in your entourage..."

"What?!"

"... you've had fights leading you to seek refuge at your parents' house..."

"That's crap, Mandi. Don't fuckin' read anymore. I'm going to sue someone's arse over this."

"Well, some of it's kind of true."

"No, it's not!"

"Let me tick the facts that are."

"No, Mandi."

"Control freak, yes. Dominating, yes. Demanding, yes, aggressive, yes. They forgot rude..."

"That's your opinion! Stop dissing my boyfriend or I'm going to fire you! I'm having a shower. Find out who wrote it."

"But it's 99% accurate!"

Violet called back, "Get the name!"

Mandi muttered under her breath, "Flirted with the make-up girl..."

When Violet came back out feeling refreshed, Mandi was just ending a call.

"That was your delightful agent, Polly. She was talking to that casting director - Francine somebody."

"Francine Bodehouse? Casting for _Improbity_?"

"Yep. Alex Breville is definitely on board. Now they're going to offer the part to Camryn Sayer if you don't take it."

"When do I have to make a decision by?"

"Well, Polly will have to start negotiations. I've said you would be available because they've confirmed that principal photography is scheduled to start late November. You'll be finished _Rise of the Five_ by then."

"That's really cutting it close, Mandi."

"But you can still do it! Don't let them ask Camryn Sayer. She was a bitch in _It's Everybody's Business._"

"Her character was a bitch. And if you hated her, that means she was playing her part convincingly."

"Well I don't like her."

"I'm not accepting a part because you don't like the other actress they're also considering for it."

"If you take it, then it means you're continuously employed until early next year. _Improbity_ will wrap early January, and you're not needed in New York until February. That's got to be a good thing, right?"

"I guess. Did she email the script?"

"Yep."

"I'll get reading then. Ask Polly to find out when I have to give an answer by. Oh, and speaking of New York - I need that script too. Also ask Virginia how the crowd sourcing's going and if the movie has a name other than _Justin Behme's Working Title picture._"

* * *

After a few nights of ordering in, Violet thought she'd cook up a couple of the frozen meals that had been stocked up in the freezer. She was careful to not let Mandi see the frozen fingers or thumbs or whatever they were as she pulled a couple of the boxes out.

She'd sent a text to Sherlock asking him to buy a bottle of red wine on his way home from Scotland Yard, it being a Friday night. He of course forgot, leading Mandi to hint rather loudly that he be made to go back out and fetch one. Sherlock ignored her and began playing a raucous tune on his violin.

Violet cleared the living room table and served up their dinner - a beef ragout.

"Dinner from a box," Sherlock remarked under his breath as they all sat down.

"This one's my favourite out of all of them," commented Mandi as she tucked in.

Sherlock sniffed his plate, then preceded to push the food around with his fork. The girls ignored him.

"Beige Apple are playing at Sweeney's Bar," Mandi said in between mouthfuls. "I'm taking Felicity - remember her?"

"Vaguely. Dark hair, dating that Tommy guy?" replied Violet.

"That's her! Melon said to bring a friend."

"Melon!" Sherlock scoffed. "And how is his roadie?"

Sherlock leaned back and put his fork down. He hadn't even started eating.

"You should come!" Mandi said to Violet, ignoring Sherlock. "They want to serenade you again, like they did in your dressing room. That was so cute!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mandi.

"I don't think so," Violet said quickly. Her eyes flicked over to Sherlock. He was now examining the morsel he had stabbed with his fork.

"It'll be fun! It's Friday night, party night. Don't be such a square like some people!"

Sherlock put the beef into his mouth, grimaced, then immediately spat it back out onto the plate.

"Disgusting!" he said, standing up. He grabbed his plate and strode over to the kitchen, dropping the whole thing into the sink with a clatter.

"Sherlock!" exclaimed Violet.

"I'm going to the lab," he stated, re-entering the living room and grabbing his coat from the back of the door. "I'll get something to eat on the way."

Mandi tutted and rolled her eyes as Violet rose from her seat.

"Sherlock," she said.

"Don't wait up," he murmured, tapping away on his phone and moving toward the stairwell.

"Sherlock!" Violet said again, but Sherlock put his phone to his ear and said, "Ah, Molly..." as he descended the stairs.

Violet was fuming, but was determined to not let Mandi know.

"Well that's just damn rude," Mandi said as Violet sat down again. "Spitting it out like that!"

Violet said weakly, "He only likes food with fresh ingredients."

"My God!" Mandi exclaimed.

"People with high sensitivities can't tolerate certain flavours."

Mandi scoffed. "So you have to spend ages cooking meals for him?"

"No, he doesn't like my cooking. Either we eat out, order in, or he cooks. Or sometimes he doesn't eat at all."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Mandi. "Well that's just too fussy."

"He just likes what he likes," Violet said defensively. "He's not going to apologise for that."

"Like I said: he's a rude man."

"He just calls it as he sees it."

"I don't know why you're defending him. He has no manners. He's arrogant and he's a bully."

"He's not a bully!"

"You just can't see it because you're in love with the man. And I really don't know what you see in him. Take a step back, Violet Hunter. The man is rude, bad-tempered and selfish."

"Don't believe everything you read on the internet, Mandi."

"Well perhaps you should! It sometimes takes an outsider to point out when you're in a bad relationship. Start paying attention, Vi! He has all the makings of being a bad boyfriend. I don't see any good things about him at all. Unless he's good in bed, and according to the internet he is. But don't forget, so was Gavin, and look how he turned out!"

"Don't compare Sherlock to Gavin!"

"No, I shouldn't. Because Gavin actually had some redeeming features, like manners!"

"You don't know the first thing about Sherlock. All you see is how he is around you. He's always guarded around people he ..."

"Doesn't like?" Mandi finished. "Because that appears to be everybody!"

"It's not everybody."

"No, it's just your friends. He never goes out anywhere with us because he can't stand your friends. He's too good for us."

"It's not that. He doesn't like where we go. He's not into clubbing and the theatre..."

"And how many times do you go out with him and his friends? Oh, zero. Because he doesn't have any friends. I wonder why that is?"

"That's not fair Mandi. He just doesn't have friends in the traditional sense. We don't go out like that. We just had friends over to dinner on the weekend. His best mate in fact, although Sherlock may not admit that."

Violet wished she didn't add that last remark.

"Look, you've had plenty of boyfriends in the past. You must know what makes a good boyfriend. Take a step back. Watch how Sherlock treats you. I bet he's only nice to you when he wants sex, or just afterwards. I bet every other time he treats you like shit. He's mean when he talks to you and doesn't care about you or your work. It's all about him and his work. Mark my words, Violet. The man's an asshole."

"Of course he cares about my work. He came to Cardiff for the interview. Why would he do that?"

"Maybe to screw your make-up artist while you were getting interviewed. Why not? She was practically begging him for it."

"Gavin really messed you up didn't he? You think every guy is fucking around on their girlfriends now."

"Anyone with a penis fucks around, Vi!"

"Just shut up Mandi. You're so full of it!"

Violet stood up and grabbed her plate, taking it to the kitchen as Mandi's phone rang. She listened as Mandi made plans to meet Felicity at Sweeney's Bar, and talked about who else they were bringing. Violet started washing the dishes when Mandi came over with her plate.

"I'm going upstairs to get ready," she said. "You really should come. Treat yourself to a night out."

"No, thank you Mandi. You know we've only got a few days left before we have to leave? I don't want to get jet lag. Early nights and no alcohol is what we should be doing."

"Oh that's a load of nonsense! You and I went to Australia before and didn't do anything special!"

"Don't you remember feeling like crap for the first few days?"

"We just slept it off."

"Well I won't have time to do that. I practically have to hit the ground running. I've got to start training and have script read-throughs."

"You know, you're not the fun girl you once were, Vi! Look at you! It's Friday night! Your boring, rude boyfriend has left you to go to where? A laboratory? On a Friday night? And who's Molly?"

"He's working, Mandi. Weekends aren't any different to him than weekdays. Molly works at St. Bart's."

"So he's spending the night with another woman. Oh my God, Vi! How gullible are you!"

"Mandi just stop it! You don't know the first fucking thing about Sherlock and I!"

"All I know is - you're going to be alone on a Friday night. Violet Hunter! How many guys around the world would kill just to take you out on a date on a Friday night, and you choose to be alone because your loser boyfriend prefers to work in a lab with some nerdy chick. And then he'll come home and have amazing sex with you, knowing that you were too afraid to go out without his permission in case, God forbid, you have fun with your friends and have the slightest chance at meeting someone who's hotter than he is. He's got it all worked out."

"You're twisting it all around. It's not like that."

"Live in denial all you want, Vi. I'm going to get ready. Come up if you change your mind. I promise you'll have a better time than staying here."

Violet's face felt flushed. How dare Mandi? She didn't know anything about Sherlock, nor about how much they'd been through together. On the surface Sherlock may appear uncaring and selfish, but he'd do anything for Violet, he really would. Wouldn't he? He just left her alone tonight because he probably thought she'd be with Mandi. Didn't he?

Violet finished the dishes with a horrible churning in her stomach. And no, it wasn't the beef ragout.

She stretched out on Sherlock's bed - their bed - feeling horrible. She tried to disregard everything Mandi had said to her. They were stupid things, totally untrue. Violet was just feeling emotional because she was going to be away from Sherlock for ages. He promised to come visit her in Australia. It would all be fine. He'll miss her just as much. Yes he will.

Violet had a shower, ignoring Mandi when she called out her goodbyes through the door. Wearing pyjamas and making herself comfortable in bed she started reading a new novel on her ipad kindle app by one of her favourite authors, Stacia Jecks. An hour later she spent half an hour staring at the ceiling contemplating Mandi's words, feeling angry at herself and ashamed for thinking bad thoughts about Sherlock.

She called Danny to find out how Jake was doing. Jake was back in his house with a couple of live-in carers. Nurses, Danny said. Both male, Stacey had insisted. She talked to Danny for a while about fame, movies and Sherlock's run-ins with the press. Danny told her about the nightclub scene, Jake's new legitimate business ventures that Danny was put in charge of, and a new girl he was seeing. Violet thought it sounded a world away, not a life she used to live.

As she ended the call with Danny, she started feeling anxious again. Stupid Mandi, she thought. What would she know. Violet drifted off to sleep, thinking bad thoughts about Sherlock again.

She felt Sherlock's presence as he climbed into bed sometime during the night. In quick time, he had his arms around her and was already nuzzling her neck.

"How was your evening?" he whispered when she roused slightly.

"Don't Sherlock," she murmured sleepily.

"What's wrong?"

"I've...got a headache," she lied.

She didn't know what she was saying, or why she was saying it. She would've loved Sherlock to have taken her to ecstatic heights right now, but she felt a bit...off about the whole idea of him just coming home having left her all alone and just expecting sex upon his return.

"Whereabouts is your headache?" he asked.

"In my head."

He sighed. "Where? Is it a hangover? Migraine? In your sinuses? The back of your neck, in which case it could be tension-related. Have you had any paracetomol?"

"I just want to sleep."

"I can massage your neck, or distract you with...?"

"No. Leave me alone."

"Did you drink too much?" he asked softly.

"What? No. I didn't go out."

There was a moment's silence as Sherlock contemplated this information. "Didn't you?"

"No."

"I thought you were going to see that band?"

"No. And I told Mandi no. You were there, at the dinner table. But you chose to leave anyway."

Sherlock bent his head, resting his forehead on Violet's arm. "You're angry with me."

"I want to sleep. Go away." She shrugged him off a little.

"Violet."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

* * *

"Okay, if you're not going to write the answers yourself, I'll answer them for you," Mandi said stubbornly.

"I'm not interested," Violet said irritably.

They were upstairs in Violet's sitting room. Violet was doing Sherlock's internet banking, having sorely neglected her personal assistant duties in recent weeks. It was two days before they were due to fly to Brisbane. Sherlock had been out since the early hours of the morning.

Mandi was insisting that Violet complete a questionnaire that Mandi had printed out from the internet for her which would tell Violet whether or not she was in a bad relationiship.

"Question one," Mandi began.

"Fuck off, Mandi!"

"Do you feel unhappy, insecure and unloved?"

"I'm unhappy right now."

"Does _Sherlock_ ever make you feel unhappy, insecure or unloved?" Mandi repeated.

"Never."

"Never? Ever?"

"I'm not answering any more."

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on that one then. Question two..."

Violet sighed.

"Do you keep your partner's actions and words a secret?"

"Well what does that mean?"

"Can you tell other people what he says or does?"

"But he's a private detective! Of course I can't."

"I think it means what he says to you personally and what he does with you."

"That's private anyway."

"Well, you never say to me, 'Oh Sherlock said something funny to me the other day.'"

Violet frowned. "Sherlock doesn't make small talk. And I did tell you about the pendant he bought for me." _And I don't like telling anyone about his unconventional approaches to social norms. It feels as if I'm betraying him somehow. Or ridiculing him. Although I do tell John, because we can both have a laugh about him. No one else understands Sherlock like John and I do._

"No, I noticed the pendant and asked where you got it from."

"You saw it before I had a chance to tell you about it. And maybe I don't confide in you about everything Sherlock does. That's a reflection on your and my relationship, not mine and Sherlock's."

"It says if you lie to protect him..."

Violet contemplated all the vague things she told her dad about Sherlock's comings and goings.

"I'll put a yes for that one then," Mandi said, noting Violet's silence.

"Whatever. I'm not interested in the questionnaire anyway."

"Question three: does your partner want you to change?"

"Nope."

"Likes your profession does he?"

"Of course he does," Violet replied, feeling uneasy.

"Question four..."

"You didn't write anything for question three."

"I did," Mandi replied, raising an eyebrow at Violet. "Question four: Does your partner have no trust in you?"

"Of course he trusts me."

"So he doesn't read your emails or texts then?"

"Well, he does, but that's because..."

"Question five..."

"Oh, fuck off, Mandi."

"Does your partner put you down in front of others? I'd say spitting out the dinner you made in front of me counts as a yes."

Violet stood up and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked as Violet brushed past him without making eye contact on their last evening together.

Sherlock put out his hand to stop her, and Violet paused, turning to face Sherlock in the small passageway off the kitchen, outside Sherlock's bedroom. Mandi was in the living room updating Violet's schedule with the call sheet she had received via email from one of the _Rise of the Five_ production assistants. Violet was returning from the bathroom and Sherlock had followed her there.

"Nothing," she said quietly.

"It's not nothing. You didn't say anything over dinner," Sherlock whispered.

"How would you know? You ate yours in your armchair in the company of your computer."

"I didn't want to listen to Mandi reading out everybody's horoscopes. And it wasn't just dinner. You've spent the last two days avoiding me. - endless shopping and coffees with I don't know who - nor do I care. Mysterious headaches. Late nights upstairs with Mandi watching movies. What's going on? It's like you've already left."

"I didn't think you'd notice."

"Me, not notice? What's wrong? It's not just you going to Australia, or is it? I thought we've had enough discussions about this. Look, come into the bedroom."

Violet reluctantly followed Sherlock back into his room. He shut the door after her.

She clenched her fists tightly so she wouldn't get overly emotional and said, "I just don't think you're going to..."

"What?"

"Miss me."

"Miss you?"

"You seem distracted."

"Distracted? It's called doing my job. Work is the best antidote for sorrow. Of course I'm going to miss you. Violet, don't ever mistake me being busy and distracted for not loving you. How many times do I have to say that? So you're going away. You're not going to be here. Yes I'll miss you. No I'm not going to let it cripple me. I'm a professional, as are you. I expect you to do your job to the best of your ability. I don't expect you to be walking around the set moping. I don't think you expect me to miss you so much that it becomes debilitating. I will be busy. I will be working. I may even end up in Saudi Arabia and not call for days on end. But not miss you? Have we not come far enough in our relationship that you even now question how much I love you?"

He paused, scanning her for clues. "But it's not just that is it?" He looked into her eyes, probing for an answer. "It's this fucking questionnaire Mandi filled out for you."

"How do you know about that?"

Sherlock pulled a folded up piece of paper from his trouser pocket.

"She left it where either you or I would find it: on the coffee table. That's her handwriting isn't it? It's not yours."

Violet breathed out slowly. Of course she was upset about the questionnaire. It was also everything Mandi had said. But it also wasn't. Their relationship looked bad - on the outside, and to everyone else. But it just didn't feel that way, and this contradiction upset her.

"Well she filled it in. I don't agree with it."

"But it bothers you, doesn't it?"

When Violet looked down and didn't reply, Sherlock's heart fell. "Violet?"

"I know it shouldn't. Mandi just interprets things differently."

Sherlock shoved one hand into his trouser pocket, the corners of his mouth turned downwards. He made to start pacing, but turned back to face Violet.

"Violet, if I'm doing it all wrong you'd tell me wouldn't you?"

"You're not doing anything wrong. The questionnaire was just stupid. It really means nothing."

Violet reached out and rubbed Sherlock's arm.

"I've never been in a relationship before that meant something. All these answers indicate that this isn't a good relationship. I must be doing it all wrong."

"But they were Mandi's answers, not mine. Not ours. She wouldn't let me explain anything. Our relationship isn't as clear cut as she thinks it is. Those sorts of questions aren't relevant to us." _Dammit, Mandi. Now Sherlock's upset and doubting himself._

Sherlock unfolded the paper and read from it. "_Do you keep your partner's actions and words a secret?_' You don't tell anyone what I say to you. Do I say horrible things? No, don't answer that. I know I do."

"Sherlock."

"I read your emails and your texts."

"I know you trust me."

"But the implication here is that doing that is a bad thing."

"It doesn't matter. You trust me. You just read them because you like to have data."

"What about long term goals?"

"What about them?"

"What did you say to Mandi?"

"We didn't get to that question. I walked out."

Sherlock handed Violet the questionnaire. Mandi had obviously finished filling it in without Violet. In response to the question, "_You and your partner don't share the same long or short term goals_", Mandi wrote "Violet wants it, but Sherlock would never put a ring on it."

Violet inwardly cringed. "You and I just haven't discussed this. It doesn't mean-"

"Are we supposed to? Because I just live from day to day."

"And some people - don't. Look, we haven't talked about it to know whether our goals differ or not, so that question is irrelevant. They all are."

"Why are they?"

"Because you and I are different to the couples this is suitable for."

"Why are we different?"

"We just are."

"Because I'm different?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Um...you're who you are, and you're precisely who I love."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Which is why this questionnaire isn't for us."

But Sherlock wasn't satisfied with that explanation.

"So I'm different that on paper I make a lousy boyfriend."

"Sherlock, you said we _both_ weren't normal, remember? Bashing in low-life neighbour with a statue? Stealing heroin to score for my friend? They're not the happy "we're having a mini break" memories most couples have on a weekend to Manchester."

That seemed to cheer Sherlock up. That and memories of hearing how his girlfriend spat in the face of an organised crime boss after implying he was gay.

"You gave me sex in an alleyway for my birthday," Violet continued. "So I told Mandi you bought me a pendant, but I didn't tell her about scaring the living daylights out of me by luring me to a deserted street and then ravishing me surrounded by tenement housing residents, or leaving the theatre early so we could tour the disused underground railway system and have a shag there. For me they're happy memories."

Violet let the questionnaire drop from her hands. "Sherlock I'm sorry I've been sulking these last couple of days. I just wanted everything to be perfect between us and I let Mandi put doubt in my mind that we were supposed to have this cookie cutter relationship, when in fact we're already perfectly happy."

"Well, _I'm_ happy," he stated, his mouth still turned down, his eyes looking wounded.

If ever there was a contradictory statement spoken, it was right there on Sherlock's face.

Violet just had to smile at him. She took a step closer, putting her arms around his waist.

"Will you miss me then?" she asked.

Sherlock embraced her in return, saying, "Fifteen hundred and sixty."

"What?"

"That's how many hours you're going to be away for. Sixty-five days. I calculated it. I want you to hear these words and know they last longer than fifteen hundred and sixty hours, Violet. There's no time limit on them. No expiry date. _I love you._ And if a miss saying that to you for twenty-four hours, or three hundred hours, then know that I still love you. And I'm missing you."

* * *

**A/N: **If you're a fellow Aussie, say hello! Violet's coming our way next chapter!

Recipe from: _Gordon Ramsay's Ultimate Cookery Course_, episode 19 "Pork stuffed with manchego and membrillo." (It's on Youtube!) Yummo!


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

"Hello! I've just got dinner in the microwave. Hang on a minute."

Violet watched Sherlock on her screen as he disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. When he returned he was frowning and stirring something in a bowl.

"What are you eating?" she asked curiously as he sat back down at his living room table in front of his notebook. This was an odd sight: firstly, Sherlock eating without her being there to remind him to, and secondly, reheating something in the microwave.

"One of those frozen risotto things you bought," he replied, adjusting his computer screen so that the webcam framed his face properly.

"I thought you didn't like those," Violet stated, tucking her legs under her as she stabbed at her own meal - scrambled eggs.

"I added salt and pepper," he informed her, taking a mouthful. "Uh!" he exclaimed, spitting it out. "That doesn't help at all. Back in a sec."

He took off again, and Violet heard the clatter of the bowl in the sink. He returned and lifted up his computer.

"Just taking you over to my armchair - don't mind me," he murmured.

Violet smiled. He was getting comfortable. It was 7am in Brisbane, and while she was eating breakfast, Sherlock was having a late supper at 10pm back home in London.

"What are you eating?" he asked, reaching over and taking a sip of tea.

"Eggs. Scrambled. They're not too bad."

"Did Mandi cook them?"

"No, she's still asleep."

Sherlock suddenly noticed Violet's morning attire. "What are you wearing?"

Violet grinned mischievously. "Your shirt."

"_My_ shirt?"

"Yes. The one you were wearing on Friday. I stole it to wear to bed. It smells like you," she added, lifting the collar to her face and breathing in for Sherlock to see.

"So now I'm minus a shirt."

"You didn't notice anything else missing?"

"My aftershave's missing."

Violet smirked again.

"You took my aftershave with you to Australia?"

"Yes! I dabbed a bit on one of my pillows to hug at night."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _The things they do for sentiment,_ he thought.

"It's just like you," Violet continued. "When I talk to it, it doesn't respond."

"So what do you have to do today?" he asked, ignoring Violet's jibe.

"I get picked up in an hour or so and taken to the studio to get my hair done. I get to do some fight scene training with some of the cast. We'll be shooting the scenes where we'll all be together in our costumes next week. Should be exciting! Then we're having a read-through and then I've got a late night shoot."

"Sounds like an early start for you."

"They have to work on my hair. It's going to be coloured."

"How?"

"It'll be a surprise! I'll send you a photo when it's done. And how was your day?"

"Good. John came round and we went to the hardware store together."

Violet laughed, until she realised Sherlock wasn't joking. "Why?"

"To buy a sledge hammer," he stated simply.

Violet could see his was typing something.

"What are you doing?"

"Just moving you to the corner of the screen while I type this email."

"I'll know if you mute me, you know."

Sherlock smirked, but continued typing.

"What did you need a sledge hammer for?"

"A case."

"Oh. I thought you may have been renovating."

Sherlock didn't reply, but furrowed his brow in response to what he was reading. Violet took a few more mouthfuls of her egg. This was just like being at home, she thought. It was nice, though. If Sherlock was ignoring her it meant he was completely relaxed. Unfortunately she couldn't just give him a quick kiss or snuggle into his lap while he worked.

"Why didn't you wake me!" called Mandi from behind Violet as she emerged from her bedroom. "Oh God, Violet! I'm in my pyjamas!" she exclaimed upon noticing Violet's Skype window.

"Sorry," apologised Violet, and she pivoted her laptop slightly. "Sherlock didn't see you anyway."

"Yes I did," he stated, typing away.

"What kind of case needs a sledge hammer?"

"I'm trying to determine if Fitzgibbon had the necessary back swing in order to break through the dry wall without damaging the delicate porcelain vase hidden in the recesses of the wall."

"O-kay," Violet replied slowly. "Whose wall are you experimenting on?"

"Not anything for you to worry yourself about," Sherlock said, glancing directly into his webcam and smiling briefly.

"Sherlock!"

He chuckled.

"I have to start getting ready now anyway," Violet said, sighing.

"Take me to your room," Sherlock suggested, smirking. "I want to see where you're sleeping."

"You naughty boy!" Violet remarked.

Mandi chimed in, "Do I have to listen to this?"

"No you don't. I'm taking Sherlock to my room."

Violet carried her computer into her bedroom and placed it on her dresser.

"Can you see me?" she asked, walking over to her wardrobe.

"Mmm," Sherlock replied, smiling appreciatively as Violet slipped off Sherlock's shirt.

She turned to her laptop and smiled.

"Come closer," he beckoned, his voice rasping.

"I'm just getting my bra out. Don't get all excited," she warned him.

"Too late," he muttered.

Violet opened the drawer underneath the laptop and retrieved a bra.

"No, you're too close now. Move back to the other side."

"Sherlock."

"Why are you wearing matching undergarments? Who's going to see?"

Violet laughed. "I know they don't always match at home, but someone _is_ going to see."

"Who?"

"Wardrobe."

"Wardrobe?"

"Yes. I have to try on my costume at some stage."

"Male or female?"

"That's irrelevant."

"Not too me."

"What if it's a female who's gay? These people are professionals, as are we all."

_I'm thinking twice about doing the romance with Alex Breville now,_ thought Violet.

"Oh, why are you putting a t-shirt on?"

"Because I'm getting dressed."

"Can you walk around naked for a little longer?" Sherlock said, pouting.

"Why, what are you doing?" Violet asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

"Watching."

"And what else?"

"That's all."

"I have to get going. We can do more of this later."

"When?"

"Tonight?"

"But you're tonight is my morning."

"So? We're always going to be out of sync. I'll be relaxing tonight while you're dashing off somewhere."

"But now you've left me with..."

Violet laughed. "Time to have a shower?"

* * *

"Mandi, it's best you just be quiet and observe for now, okay? And while we're on the subject of etiquette, don't ask for anyone's autograph and no hooking up with anybody even remotely related to the movie until the last week of shooting. Got that?"

"Fine! All I said was, 'Who does she think she is?'"

"Exactly."

"Well she shouldn't boss you around!"

"That's her job."

"She's not the director."

"She's on his team. She's the 2nd AD. It's her job to get me to the set on time. Her arse will be on the line if she doesn't, so stop interfering!"

"_I_ can tell you when to be on set. Why did they give us this piece of paper then?"

"So I can be ready to go, or know when we're getting picked up from the hotel, or what late nights I'm going to have. I can't go wandering about myself. I'll get lost! And you're not to go anywhere near the set. You're to stay at basecamp or go back to the trailer. Okay?"

"Do I have to stay in there all day?"

"No. You know where the facilities are and catering. If you leave the lot just tell one of the PAs to let me know."

"I'll just text you."

"You've have my phone."

Mandi and Violet were interrupted by the return of Violet's art department appointed hairdresser.

"Ah, here we are!" the young woman exclaimed, carrying a luxurious length of hair she had obtained from the designers who had only just finished working on it.

Violet had asked if she could see her Satis hair, that she would be wearing from next week. She had the choice of wearing a wig with the hair extensions attached, or to dye her own hair to match, then get the extensions added to that.

"Oh my God!" Mandi exclaimed.

"It's very shimmery - like water!"

"Now are you sure you want to dye your hair to match?" the hairdresser asked.

"Of course! I don't want the whole wig thing."

"Excellent. I'll let Jennifer know. Okay, let's rinse this out. I wish they'd done the shooting the other way around though. You're only going to be a brunette until next Monday then."

"And then I'll be a...what do they call people with blue hair?"

"Old-age pensioners?" Mandi volunteered.

"I'm going to look like a mermaid, Mandi! Just wait til Sherlock sees me."

"Oh, he only likes blondes anyway."

"Says who?"

"Most of the women on that forum."

"Oh, be quiet!"

Mandi and Violet were silent as Emma rinsed Violet's hair over the sink. She was just towel-drying it when the tiny room that served as a hair and make-up room was invaded by four well-toned adonises. Mandi's jaw dropped to somewhere near the vicinity of the floor.

Violet's co-stars.

"G'day!" the tallest of the group called out.

"Hello," Violet replied, smirking as Emma hastily pulled Violet's hair up into a loose bun and clipped it in place.

"We just thought we'd give you an Aussie welcome before we see you this arvo, but we thought we'd use this opportunity to embarrass you because no woman likes to be seen before her hair and make-up are done."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Violet replied, standing up and grinning.

Joseph Irkhardt's grin broadened. "Joe," he said, extending his hand. There really was no need to introduce himself, and he knew it.

"Violet," Violet replied, shaking his hand.

She turned to the others, all whom she recognised from the first movie and of course any other movie she'd seen them in. A couple of them more frequently than the others, and possibly with far less clothing.

"Brad," said Bradley Tessi. He was playing Kephri, the scarab beetle. Brad was smaller than the other superheroes, but still loomed over Violet. He was of good Italian stock, and exuded old-world Hollywood charm, appearing most recently in a rom-com.

"Heath," said the sandy-haired, blue-eyed actor, Heath Camblin. His character was Sobek, the crocodile deity. Violet had watched him on-screen only a couple of years ago in a spy movie. She was sitting in the cinema with Mandi at the time. She could only guess what was going on in Mandi's mind at the moment. Violet had to pretend she did this thing all the time - meeting hunky celebrities.

"Ethan." Tall, lean, blond, but still very, very buff, Ethan Helgesen - Khonsu, the lunar deity. Violet only knew of him from his American TV show she had yet to see. He played a vampire in that, and was lusted after by millions of women worldwide. She could see why, fangs or no fangs.

Violet shook hands with them all and then introduced Emma and Mandi.

"Hey are we doing the t-shirt thing?" Another man loomed in the doorway. A fellow Englishman. It was Timothy Killaney, who was playing Apophis, the evil serpent of the underworld. He was well-known for his theatre work in the UK, mostly Shakespeare, but had spent the last few years in the U.S. playing anything from stuck up British git to providing the voice for an animated hummingbird in a children's movie.

The first four all groaned.

"Haven't got to that yet, for fuck's sake, Killaney!" Heath said, scowling.

"T-shirt?" asked Violet.

With a sigh, Joe said, "Let's show her boys."

And before Mandi's eyes could bug out any further, the five men all unzipped their jackets and shrugged them off - a bit difficult to do in such a confined space, but they managed.

They all looked at Violet for approval as they stood there, all in tight black t-shirts with the words "Anuket's Children" emblazoned on the front in white.

"And turn," Joe commanded.

They all turned their backs on Violet, revealing their own unique monikers:

Apis, _100% Beef!_

Kephri, _Beetlejuice_;

Sobek, _Snap!_

Khonsu, _Eclipse!_

Apophis, _Bad boy!_

Violet was just about bent over double laughing at the absurdity of their nicknames, as was Emma. Mandi was still under the influence of the testosterone in the room and was completely starstruck.

"And yours," Joe said, holding out a t-shirt for Violet.

She unfolded it, and seeing the Anuket's Children logo on the front she turned it over.

Satis, _Anuket's Bitch!_

They all laughed along with her.

"No way!" Violet exclaimed. "I can't wear this!"

"You have to! It's a surprise for Max!" Joe declared, obviously the ring-leader.

Max Burnott, Director. Well-known for his on-set pranks.

"Okay, sure," Violet conceded, smiling amiably.

"Good stuff! This afternoon, at the read-through!" Joe said, "Fall out fellas!" he commanded, exiting the make-up room and shrugging on his jacket.

Brad gave Violet an embarrassed smile, and shuffled out, donning his jacket as well. Heath didn't make eye-contact with Violet, and instead, clapped Brad on the shoulder as he left behind him. Ethan saluted. "Later!" he said as he too, pulled his jacket back on over his t-shirt. Only Timothy, the Englishmen remained, leaning casually against the door frame.

"Great to have another Brit on board!" he said, grinning broadly. "Don't let them hassle you too much!" he said, and exited along with the others, his "Bad Boy" logo the last thing Violet saw of him.

"Oh - my - God!" she exclaimed as Emma unclipped her hair and began combing it through.

"You should've seen them when they all arrived the other week!" Emma began. "Goddamn boys' club! I don't envy you at all."

"Mandi, you can close your mouth now."

* * *

Sherlock yawned. He looked at his watch. _Midnight. I wonder what Violet's up to?_  
He deposited his laptop on the ground beside him, grabbed his teacup and saucer and placed them in the kitchen sink. _I'll wash the dishes in the morning_, he thought, yawning again.

Feeling slightly empty, he padded into his bedroom. Empty, and just a bit - annoyed. Annoyed because Violet had flirted with him across cyberspace, leaving him aroused. Then he spent two hours researching porcelain vases from the Victorian era. Decidedly dull. But it had done the trick. He no longer had an erection.

He tried to not think of Violet again as he went about his evening rituals, but everything in his bedroom and bathroom spoke of Violet, and the photograph of her wearing a corset stuck to the back of the bathroom door didn't really help matters.

Sherlock lay down on his bed, on top of the covers, staring at the darkened ceiling for a while, thinking about the next day. No cases. No Violet. And what was that experiment he was itching to conduct while Violet was away? He couldn't think. Something which involved destroying something of hers which he would have to replace. He couldn't remember. He had been saving it though - saving it for when she would be in Australia, and therefore not there to reprimand him about it.

Oh well. He had seven, eight, nine (?) weeks to remember.

His mind plunged into the deep waters of slumber, when the sound of his phone buzzing brought him abruptly to the surface again. Breathing out deeply, he reached across to his bedside table for his phone.

VIOLET: [ New hairdo! ]

The accompanying photo showed Violet with her hair straighter than usual but now a rich dark brown colour.

_Oh. Dull._

He hoped she didn't want to chat as he felt too lazy to get up again to retrieve his laptop. All he managed to type in reply was "Good."

She didn't text again that night.

* * *

"You have to wear it!" Mandi said in a panic-stricken voice.

"No I don't!" Violet replied, laughing and drying herself with a towel.

They were back in Violet's trailer. Violet had just finished in the shower after having spent two hours training for fight scenes that they would be filming in a few week's time. Mandi had grabbed lunch for Violet from the canteen and she gulped it down as she was getting dressed, ready to meet with the rest of the cast and crew for the read-through of the scenes they were filming over the next couple of weeks.

For the rest of the week, though, she would be filming her early scenes: the ones where her character had yet to find out she possessed the powers of an ancient Egyptian deity. Her hair had been dyed brown for Sarah, as her character is initially called, to go about her normal life as a bored supermarket cashier/film student.

Mandi was trying to convince Violet to wear the _Anuket's Children_ t-shirt.

"They're all going to be wearing it! You'll be the odd one out!"

"No, I won't. I'll be the odd one out if I _do_ wear it!"

"You're not making any sense."

"I've been with Sherlock long enough to learn all about 'tells' and the art of lying."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a trick. They're not going to be wearing those shirts. Apart from Joe, who's probably a great bullshit artist, the other guys looked really nervous and dodgy. They just want me to show up to the read-through wearing a shirt that says 'Anuket's Bitch!' all by myself. It's not a surprise for Max. It's a joke at my expense."

"No! That's...that's mean!"

"It's fine. I'm the new kid. They have to do something to initiate me into the group. I'll just wear this jacket so I can string them along for a little while, thinking that I _am_ wearing the shirt underneath."

Violet felt extremely self-conscious walking into the reheatsal room for their read-through which had nothing to do with the t-shirt prank. She had instructed Mandi to find a chair against the wall and quietly sit down. Violet wished she could slip in just as anonymously. It was times like these that she felt completely out of her depth. In front of hundreds of fans calling her name, she felt completely relaxed. In front of a handful of already accomplished actors, directors and other veterans of the entertainment industry, she felt like a fraud.

Her five co-stars were spread out around a large conference table. She'd already met Alissen King, the Assistant Director, and Lynda Bloch, her Second. She had only spoken to Max Burnott, the Director, over the phone a couple of times when she was home in London. He liked to laugh a lot, she had concluded.

Violet was introduced to the rest of the heads of production and a couple of studio executives. She couldn't remember most of their names, and was silently thankful the other side of the daily call sheet listed all of their contact details.

"Aren't you a bit hot in that jacket, Violet?" Joe had whispered to her.

Heath to her left let out a snort, while Brad coughed.

"It is a bit warm in here," Violet said, her face impassive.

She removed her jacket and received five groans from all around her. The boys had to explain the failed joke to the rest of the crew, resulting in Max insisting they all wear the shirts to the wrap party.

"Violet!" Alissen King, the Assistant Director, called as the read-through concluded and everyone had broken off into smaller groups to chat. "How are you finding it?"

"Great! I think I'm going to love all this fighting stuff more than anything!"

The AD laughed. "You'd better watch out Max doesn't put you in more of the action scenes. It's so great there's a female role in this franchise. Did anyone make it clear to you that this could be an ongoing thing?"

"There was mention of it, but as with all films it's hard to say how well it's going to be received at the box office isn't it?"

"Yes, well I've heard a rumour that two more films may be commissioned. You may have to keep up with the martial arts just a bit longer!"

"Oh, cool. My boyfriend might like that," Violet said, smirking.

"Oh your boyfriend! Will he be joining you here any time soon?"

"I hope so. It all depends on his work commitments at the time."

"I know how you feel. My boyfriend will actually be here for the weekend. He promised he'll definitely get here! He's been back in the UK for a couple of weeks. He's coming along to the party on Friday night. Are you coming to that?"

"Of course! I can't wait!"

"He's said he's already met you. When you were in New York?"

"Oh! Who's your boyfriend?"

"Jim."

"Oh, Jim Moriarty. That's great! I'll look forward to seeing him again."

* * *

"Do you like it?" Violet asked expectantly.

"Yes, it's the same colour you had when we first started dating," Sherlock replied, forcing a smile on his face.

"I can't talk for long. I have to take a nap."

"But isn't it early?" Sherlock asked, stifling a yawn himself. He had already settled in to commence a day of lounging on his couch in his pyjamas unless a new case came in. He thought he could get Violet to take her clothes off for him again when she was getting ready for bed.

'It's 4:30 now, but I have to film tonight from 11pm to about 2am. We're going to be in a supermarket. And since it closes at 11, we can only start then. It may be a long night. I'll be standing at the checkouts, beeping through groceries! I'll have a new found skill. That, and kicking butt!"

"What does a supermarket have to do with superheroes?"

"We all have to start somewhere! Now, I have something for you."

"Oh, good," Sherlock murmured, sitting up in expectation.

"This is the script from that detective film I'll be doing in New York. It has a title now: _Arthur Avenue._"

"Oh?" Sherlock queried in disappointment.

"If you don't have any cases on, could you read through it? See if the case fiction sounds plausible," Violet asked, tapping away at the keyboard. "Print it out. That would be best. Then you can scribble all over it like you did to one of my Regency Road scripts one day."

Sherlock lay back onto the couch and sighed.

"I've sent it now," came Violet's voice from his laptop on the coffee table.

"Mmm."

"Sherlock?"

"Good. I'll read it later," he responded with his eyes closed and waving a limp hand in the general direction of the computer.

"Well, I'm going to lie down now."

"See you later."

"I think I'll just sleep naked."

* * *

The scanner beeped at almost regular intervals.

"Do you need a bag?" the checkout operator asked in a bored tone.

"No," the elderly man replied.

The checkout operator, a young woman whose brown hair was swept up in a neat pony-tail, continued scanning the grocery items. She looked expectantly at her customer.

"Do you have your own bag?" she finally asked him.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"Would you like to purchase a bag? They're only fifteen cents," she asked, holding up a paper bag.

"No," he replied, shaking his head again.

The young woman looked worried as she continued scanning the items. She rang up the register, declaring, "Twenty-eight dollars and forty cents, please. Cash or card?"

The man reached into his pockets, rummaged a little, then pulled out a handful of crumpled notes. He handed them to the checkout operator, who grimaced, then flattened out the notes. She waited while her customer retrieved some coins from his pocket, and counted out the exact change.

"Thank you," she said, stowing the money in the till.

Her customer remained where he was after she handed him his receipt.

"Are you right?" she asked.

"May I have a bag please?" he asked.

The young woman jutted her jaw forward and announced, "They're fifteen cents each."

The man patted his trousers as the checkout operator pushed her glasses along the bridge of her nose a little. She impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter.

"I don't have another cent on me," he said.

"Would you like to return something?" she asked coolly.

The man looked at the items at the end of the counter then slid a can of beans back toward the operator. She sighed, then pressed a button on the side of her register. She raised her hand in the air, then looked hopefully toward the service desk.

An equally bored-looking older woman wearing an obvious wig came to assist.

"Refund," the younger lady stated.

"Would you like to exchange it?" the elder queried their customer.

"No, he needs to pay for a shopping bag," the younger woman snapped.

"Oh my goodness, Sally. Give him one for free."

"You know what? You give him one for free, Karen. I quit! Okay? I've had enough!"

"Cut!"

Violet froze and then slumped her shoulders. What now?

"Her name's Sarah, not Sally, Rhonda!"

Oh fuck me! thought Violet. Ten seconds of the fucking shot has taken nearly two hours! First the old guy - the store owner posing as an extra (!) and now bloody Rhonda!

"Right, we'll take it from the service call. Violet?"

From the pressing of the button and raising her hand in the air. _Great! Everybody's probably sick of Ron fumbling in his trousers for the change as much as I am._

Violet breathed out and stared at the ground, listening for the sounds of the crew resetting.

"Scene 3, Take 7," the clapper-loader said.

To the sound of "Mark it!", Violet tensed and looked up.

"Action!"

Press button, raise hand, look towards service desk.

"Refund."

* * *

Violet rubbed her face with her hand. Only one shot left in this scene, and they'd have to do that in the early hours of Wednesday morning because they needed it to be daytime: "Sarah" storming out of the supermarket, followed by Apis.

It was 3:20am and she was waiting for the 3rd AD to give her a lift back to the hotel.

She was the only 'talent' left on set. Joseph Irkhardt had left a couple of hours ago. Apis had to try to recruit Satis, known as Sarah, after she quit her job as a checkout operator. They had filmed the shots with Joe first, allowing him to finish and leave, while Violet stayed to learn the ropes of being a checkout operator. Three hours later and she was ready to drop. Fortunately she wasn't required to be back at the studio lot for training that same day until 1pm.

By the time she got back to the hotel it was 4am. Violet tried to mentally calculate the time it would be in London, but her tired brain wouldn't have any of it. She stripped down to her knickers, then pulled on Sherlock's shirt. His favourite purple one.

_Just after 7pm in London,_ she finally concluded. _Perfect_. She sent a text to Sherlock first, to make sure he was available.

VIOLET: [ Skype? ]

Her laptop began ringing, so she hurriedly positioned it on her bed and answered Sherlock's call.

"Why are you awake?" he asked, frowning.

He was sitting in his armchair by the fire.

"I just got back from shooting. I'm exhausted, but I had so much caffeine that my mind is buzzing. How was your day?"

Sherlock ignored her question. "Then you need seratonin and endorphins. They'll help you to relax."

Violet thought she'd heard this before. "Pardon?"

"The chemicals released during orgasm, remember? You're going to have to masturbate," he said, straight-faced. "Come on."

"What? What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to my bedroom."

Violet laughed. "And what are you going to do to me there?"

"You'll just have to take matters into your own hands, Violet. Or as you so eloquently stated to me a year or so ago: _take care of yourself._"

"And what are you going to do?"

Sherlock's voice went hoarse as he replied, "Watch."

Violet was stunned, but then she felt all shy and giggly.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he got comfortable in his own bed with his computer on his lap.

"I will if you will," she replied, raising her eyebrows a little.

Sherlock just stared at Violet's face which was full of mischief on his screen for a moment - his mind picturing the scenario.

"All right," he murmured.

He swiftly placed his notebook on the bed beside him, pivoting the screen a little. Violet gulped, not expecting his answer to be so prompt and in the affirmative. They stared at each other for a few seconds, both not knowing what to do next.

"Undress?" asked Violet.

"Um...I should leave my pyjama bottoms on. It could get messy otherwise," Sherlock remarked.

He sat up and pulled his shirt off over his head then tossed it to the floor. His hair was left slightly tousled by this action and Violet longed to run her fingers through it.

"I'll leave my underwear on too, then," Violet said while pulling off Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock allowed his gaze to rest on Violet's naked upper half, feeling his want manifest itself slowly through his loins. Her body was flawless. He outlined her perfect frame with his eyes. Earlier he would've been annoyed at his reaction and would have to take care of it in the shower, alone, with only Violet's picture taped to the back of the bathroom door to jerk off to. But now he had Violet beside him. And she wanted him to.

They both lay back down on their sides, facing each other. They had positioned themselves as if they were in bed together on their own sides of Sherlock's bed, their computers as substitutes for each other.

"You start," Violet said.

"No, you start," Sherlock countered, his voice low and rasping.

"Just wait," Violet said, sitting up again. She reached to the end of the bed and picked up Sherlock's shirt that she had thrown there. She placed it just in front of her and lay back down on her side again.

_Okay, just do it,_ she thought. She could smell him, his scent from his shirt, it had faded quite a lot now, and his cologne on her pillow. And she didn't need to close her eyes to see him; he was right in front of her on her screen.

Sherlock swallowed, and Violet watched his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down along his throat. She drew a breath in. His aftershave on her pillow allowed her to remember what it was like to nuzzle into that neck, breathing him, smelling his cologne. She felt her body tingling with desire for him. She could taste his skin on her tongue. Clean and soapy, or if they were in the throes of passion, slightly salty from his sweat. She could feel the smoothness of his skin against her lips as she imagined kissing toward the base of his neck.

And what would he be doing to her as she continued her descent along his chest? Violet imagined Sherlock's hand beginning a gentle caress across her chest, taking in the fullness of her breasts, his fingers deftly flicking across her nipples. Her own hand began to follow Sherlock's imaginary hand as she watched Sherlock on her screen staring intently at her.

_Oh  
God  
Violet, yes,_  
Sherlock thought.

Violet's close promximity was like torture to him. He no longer felt self-conscious and awkward. Everything he had imagined he would like to do to Violet she was now doing to herself. He could feel Violet's silky skin beneath his fingertips. Every nerve ending in his body was electrified at the sight of her and he needed Violet to touch him now.

Violet kept her eyes focussed on her screen as she continued to circle her own breasts, taking in her nipples now and then, watching Sherlock watching her. She could see his chest rising and falling a little more quickly now as her hand slid down her torso toward her navel. Sherlock subconsciously wet his lips, which helped Violet conjure up her memories of Sherlock kissing along her navel, then sliding her pyjamas downward. She remembered his hand inside when they were watching the mini series, his fingers long and slender gently stroking her. She copied his movements, closing her eyes momentarily as she heard Sherlock gasp beside her.

"Sherlock," she whispered and opened her eyes again to see that Sherlock had already slid his hand inside his own pyjamas, the sight of which increased her own arousal tenfold.

"Violet," he murmured, looking up at her through the webcam. He could almost feel Violet's heat, emanating from the glow of her skin in the soft light of the bedside lamp beside her.

They continued their gentle stroking, each one watching the other's hand, feeling their lover's touch and not their own. Violet couldn't believe how good this felt, as if Sherlock was right there. She tightened her grip on his shirt, pulling it closer to her chest, breathing him in again.

"Please Sherlock," she sighed. Sherlock didn't know why. But he felt the same. _Just be here for me._

"Faster!" she commanded, watching his own hand inside his pjs and imagining they were his inside hers.

He responded with a hungry moan, his brow furrowed. Violet rolled to her back, her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly. Sherlock sat up on one elbow and leaned forward.

"Violet," he whispered. "Violet look at me," he said hoarsely. He needed to see her watching him. Needed her eyes on him, for it was she who was doing this to him. "Violet." His voice grew ragged, and his breath shallow.

"Oh, Sherlock," she moaned with longing.

"Violet, open your eyes."

She gasped, and turned back toward him. "I'm...I'm..."

"Oh, fuck, Violet," he groaned, leaning his head back and surrendering.

"Sherlock. Don't - stop," she gasped.

They had both timed it perfectly, echoing cries of pleasure, they came together.

Violet lay back panting, staring at the ceiling momentarily. Beside her, she could hear Sherlock's low rumble. She turned to him. He was grinning broadly, making her smile in return.

"Go to sleep now," he said.

"Can you read to me?" she asked, sleepily.

"Sure. I'll just get something to read. I'd better get cleaned up first. I'll be right back."

Before Sherlock had even returned Violet had fallen into a deep sleep. Sherlock left his Skype window open as he recommenced working on his computer. For the next three hours he stole glances at Violet's sleeping form now and then, smiling to himself at the image of her cuddling his favourite purple shirt as she slept.

* * *

The rest of the week required no more late nights. There was only one minor delay, when they tried to shoot the scene outside the supermarket as early as they possibly could on the Wednesday morning. As they had just secured the location, a fruit and vegetable delivery van backed into the supermarket carpark along with its incessant warning beep.

Joe and Violet leant against the outside of the supermarket chatting, while the assistant directors argued with the delivery van driver about whether or not they had a permit to film there and to block access to the carpark. It turns out they only had a permit for the supermarket and its carpark and not the driveway.

Joe told Violet about his highschool drama classes and kids that didn't like him back then. He wondered what they thought of him now. Joe said as he was a bit of a dick in highschool most of his fellow students hated him. Except for the girlfriends of the jocks, he said. They adored him. Violet thought Joe seemed a bit lonely and didn't mind listening to his self-absorbed stories. He reminded her of Matt in some ways.

It was't long before filming commenced again with the agreement that the fruit and vegetable delivery guy could pose as a background extra, entering the supermarket just as Sarah and Apis were leaving.

Violet thought it was incredible that it took two hours to shoot a scene that went for thirty seconds.

Violet was enjoying the training each afternoon. She couldn't wait to take her new skills home to Sherlock and beat the crap out of him.

Mandi was practically bouncing off the walls when they got back to their hotel room Friday afternoon. She was so excited about going out on the town at last. They had only been in Brisbane for a week, but their first weekend was spent sleeping off their jet lag, Mandi more so than Violet.

The studio lot and the hotel they were staying in were both on the outskirts of Brisbane, so they hadn't travelled into the city at all the entire week.

There were several reasons for the studio party that night: one was the birth of the Production Manager's first grandchild, the second was Brad's 23rd birthday the day before, and third, the fact that all of the cast were now on location.

Violet briefly skyped Sherlock. She was glad to see him all dressed up, and agitated about going out for the day. This made her feel better about cutting the call short.

"I love you!" she said.

"Don't drink to much!" he warned. "And I love you too!"

* * *

"And then my girlfriend pissed off with her brother's best mate, then tweeted about them, telling the whole world we'd broken up before she'd told me!" Joe was telling Violet, rather vehemently.

He was leaning over her, one hand against the wall, breathing alcohol fumes over her which reminded her of long conversations with Nick once upon a time.

"Violet doesn't want to hear your sob story anymore, Joe!" Jim Moriarty said, coming up behind them and clapping Joseph Irkhardt on the back.

"Nice to see you again, Jim," Violet said, feeling relieved at the interruption.

"Violet! How about a drink? Yours looks empty. Irkhardt here not taking care of you?"

"I think he's pretty much taken care of himself," Violet said, side-stepping away from Joe who leant his forehead against the wall, closing in on the gap vacated by Violet. "I'm not drinking anyway. This was just lemonade."

"Oh good! And sensible," Jim remarked. "Now I wanted to have a little chat about that movie deal I mentioned last month."

He led Violet away from Joe to a vacant couch situated in one corner of the nightclub where the studio was holding their private party.

"Yes?" Violet responded, feel slightly apprehensive.

"What you should do - or more importantly, what we could do for you is find a feature film: something that you can be passionate about. Make it your project. Now that you'll be somewhat known and you'll have that Justin Behme project under your belt (as long as that one doesn't burn you), the studio would be happy to greenlight a film just for you."

"I...don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, at least not to anyone yet. Find a project...you must have one in mind already don't you? Actors always do."

"Well, now that you mention it..."

"There you go!" he exclaimed, his brown eyes twinkling. "So tell me about it?"

Violet told Jim about the Stacia Jecks novel she had been reading, featuring a heroine who had a long history of psychological abuse at the hands of her father.

"I've not heard of it, but then again I have far too many distractions to make time to read novels. But I like the sound of it. I really do. Now I have a few people in my pocket, so to speak. A couple of screenwriters and a producer. Let me see what I can do."

"Really?"

"Sure. They owe me. Text me the name of the novel. I'll give you my number."

Violet pulled her phone out of her bag and typed in Jim's phone number as he recited it to her.

"Thank you, Jim. This all sounds amazing. Like a fairy tale," she added, smiling sweetly.

"A fairy tale? Well I like fairy tales and yours may be just beginning. Have you ever heard of Daisy Firmington?"

"Of course? Who wouldn't have?"

"Well everybody wouldn't have if it hadn't been for my gentle guidance at the start of her career five years ago."

"Really?"

"You remind me of her. Fresh from the theatre, a small stint in television and then a sudden and meteoric rise into film."

_And then crashing and burning by overdosing on drugs in her hotel room all alone, _Violet thought.

"But she couldn't handle it. The instant fame. Unlike you. You seem to have it all together."

"I have good people around me," Violet replied, hoping she wasn't like the poor, unfortunate Daisy Firmington in any other way.

"There was also Natasha Camillion. Have you heard of her?"

"I don't think so."

"A french actress. Same thing. She's still doing well. I have a lot of things going on out there, but I would be happy to support you in any way."

"Why would you?" Violet asked, trying to hide her suspicion.

"Oh, it's nothing like that," he said grinning. "Call it an investment. I'm purely a businessman, and this is one of the biggest industries in the world. You have a good sense about you. And a natural instinct for quality projects. Hooking up with Splendor Pictures was a risk most newcomers aren't willing to take, but I think you're on a good thing there. You didn't need this picture - this big blockbuster. I think you know that. But it got you a foot in the door with the studio and therefore a studio's budget. I'm offering you a chance to stay ahead of the game. And it is a game, believe me."

"But how did you get into the industry? I mean, if you don't have a background-"

"Excuse me, Violet," Alissen said, interrupting them. "I just need my boyfriend back for a moment. Jim?" she added, looking slightly irritated.

"Well, I'd better be off," Jim said rising from the sofa and smiling a little. "So nice to have had a proper chat."

"Thanks, Jim. See you later."

Violet watched Alissen lead Jim away, holding tightly onto his arm like a prized possession. Violet wanted to know more about Jim. Bre, her agent from New York, had said he was the money behind the studio, but didn't greenlight anything. How much influence did he actually have? Why would he be interested in her career? She could ask Alissen about him, but she didn't want the Assistant Director to think she had the hots for him. That would cause unnecessary tension on the set for the next couple of months. Violet didn't want to risk it. Could she ask Sherlock to check him out? No, then he would worry.

What about Mycroft? He was always compiling files about people. Would he do it as a favour to her and NOT tell Sherlock?

Violet still wasn't sure how Mycroft felt about his little brother's girlfriend these days, and if he would tell Sherlock about her request just to stir up trouble.

No. She had to come up with some other way to find out if Jim Moriarty was all he said he was.

.

* * *

**A/N:** Your reviews! I love them!

I hope I was suitably general in the descriptions of the five hunky co-stars. Pick whomever you like to portray them as you read!


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N:** I can't believe I've been writing this for four months now! I gave myself a deadline of 3 months thinking series 3 would be out in September. What was I thinking! But I also thought I'd be done after 25 chapters (:

* * *

**Chapter 55**

Violet quickly scanned the room. Mandi was flirting with a small group of males near the balcony - the guys from the sound and electrical departments Violet observed. Joe was leaning against the wall where Violet had left him, but was facing outwards now. A couple of girls from production were talking to him but it looked like he wasn't interested.

"How's that left calf?" a voice behind her said.

It was Ethan accompanied by Brad.

"It'll heal. I'll be kicking that sorry arse of yours again in no time, don't you worry!" Violet replied.

"What's your hairstylist's name again?" Brad asked.

"Emma. Why?"

"No reason," Brad replied slyly.

"You know the rule don't you?"

"Remind me again?" he asked mischievously.

Ethan replied for her. "No tapping that until the last week of filming."

"Why? She doesn't do _my_ hair," Brad replied, staring over at Emma lustfully. "And it is my birthday."

"Boys. Leave the beautiful Satis alone. She's all mine," Joe slurred, making his way over to them.

"Huh," remarked Brad. "Come on, Moon God. Let's leave Irkhardt to do his thing," he said, addressing Ethan.

They both left before Violet could protest that she was not available to be the object of Joseph Irkhardt's 'thing'.

"Violet," Joe said, slumping down onto the sofa. "Why are women so fucked!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

He patted the sofa beside him. "Sit. I wanna ask your advice."

Reluctantly Violet sat down. She would give him two minutes, she thought, before grabbing a taxi and heading back to the hotel with or without Mandi.

"Why are women so fucked?" he asked again.

"Which women in particular?"

"The ones I fuck," he replied.

"Then stop picking the same type," she advised him, smiling a little.

"You're not my type, so maybe I should pick you," he said, putting his arm along the back of the couch and leaning toward her.

"Why am I not your type?" Violet asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Because you're, you know, upper class."

Violet laughed. "And your girlfriends are...?"

"Trailer park trash," he finished.

"I guess you just answered your own question there," Violet commented, standing up. "I've got to go. Try to enjoy the rest of the night will you? There are a few non-trailer park girls here."

Joe stood up suddenly. "I'll share a taxi with you."

"Ah. No," Violet said.

"But we're going back to the same hotel!" he complained.

"Mmm, yes. And that's why it's not a good idea."

"Aw fuck it," he said, flopping down onto the sofa again.

"Look, I'll see if someone can drive you, okay?"

Violet left him and thought she ought to let Mandi know her intentions. Mandi was no longer with the main group of guys but was talking intimately with one particular young man by the bar.

"Mandi, we're going to go in five, okay?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Surely this is my own private time?"

"Mandi, I'm asking you as my friend if we can go home now."

"No, you ordered me like my bitchy boss would."

"What? Is that what I am to you now?"

Mandi's companion interrupted them. "Actually, I have to be up early tomorrow. We're re-wiring the HQ set. Could we share a cab?"

Violet looked at Mandi and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Okay!" Mandi replied. She wasn't impressed.

Violet asked Mandi's friend if he could help get Joe into their taxi. They deposited the tall super-hunk into the front seat, and then Violet, Mandi and Mandi's new man took the back seat. As they were driving through the city, Mandi and her friend were alternately whispering and giggling. It drove Violet to distraction.

"Oh, pull over here please!" Mandi said suddenly.

"What? Why?" Violet asked. But the pair disembarked and hastily shut the cab door before Violet could get a response.

_Fucking Mandi!_ she thought and she leant back into the seat fuming. A few minutes later she received a text.

MANDI: [ Sorry! Paul wanted to show me this other bar. I'll be another couple of hours. Don't wait up! ]

Violet rolled her eyes and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey. She wasn't sure if Joseph was awake or passed out.

Once they arrived at the hotel, she thumped Joe on his shoulder, and then paid the fare. She got out of the taxi first, and then opened Joe's door when he didn't. He stumbled out, saying, "Are we at another club? I have to take a piss."

"No, we're back at the hotel," Violet replied, trying to haul Joe to his feet.

He stood up on shaky legs. "I left Chelsea at Club Nokia."

"Who? Where?"

"Downtown LA," he said through half-slitted eyes.

Violet grabbed his face with both hands. "Concentrate! You're at our hotel in Brisbane, Australia!"

He grinned and chuckled as the taxi pulled away. "I remember," he said.

"Come on. Can you make it on your own?" Violet asked, as the tall mountain of a man swayed ominously.

"Of course!"

Violet shuddered, remembering half dragging a drunken Nick into the flat they shared on several occasions. Nick, however, was an ant compared to the Egyptian god.

Joe put his arm around Violet and bent down, saying to her as she turned to him, "I'm sorry, Violet. I don't usually get this drunk when I'm working."

"I'll forgive you just this once," she replied raising her eyebrows at him. "Don't do it again, though. We still have to train on Saturdays, remember!"

He let her go and followed her through the revolving hotel door, and across the lobby, where they waited for the elevator.

"What floor?" Violet asked, as the doors rolled open.

"Six."

Violet pressed the button for six. She would see Joe to his room first, before going up to hers on the 7th. She hadn't socialised with any of her co-stars during her first week in Brisbane, even though they all resided in the same hotel. They all had different schedules, although she suspected the boys had a bit of a nightly poker game happening.

"Do you have your key?" she asked, as the doors slid open.

"Ah...", he sighed heavily. "I don't know."

He thrust his hands in both pockets and came up empty handed.

"Jacket?" Violet asked as they walked along the corridor.

"Um. No."

"What's your room number?"

"Oh," he said, looking worried, his brow furrowed.

"Joe!"

"I don't remember."

Violet sighed. "Well I can ring down and ask reception..."

"No, no. Ring Toni," he said, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Toni was Joseph's assistant. He had said she never went out with him on social ocassions because he would sometimes pick up, leaving her to find her own way back to their hotel.

"She has the room next to mine."

He tapped away at his phone and then listened for a while, then he tutted and ended the call.

"What?"

"She also doesn't answer when I ring, because she doesn't like talking to me when I'm drunk."

Violet laughed to herself. _How much crap had this poor assistant had to put up with over the time she'd worked for Joseph Irkhardt?_

"Give me her number and I'll ring from my phone. Maybe she'll answer if a different number calls," Violet finished, pulling her phone out.

Joe handed Violet his phone and she dialled Toni's number from hers.

"Hi Toni, it's Violet Hunter here...yes he did...well, he's forgotten his room key and also his room number...great! See you soon."

She handed Joe his phone back. "Room 613. I'll let you go. Good night!"

"No! Come and tell her I'm not drunk!" he insisted, grabbing her hand.

"But you _are_ drunk."

"Just tell her I was behaving myself then."

_My God!_ thought Violet. _He's scared of his assistant._

Violet sighed, and managed to pull her hand out of Joe's grasp as they walked along the corridor. He looked down at her and frowned. An angry looking assistant stood in the doorway of room 613 with her arms crossed. As they approached, she pushed the door open wide, glared at Joe one more time, and then disappeared inside the room. Joe had to lunge forward to prevent the door swinging shut. Violet heard the sound of the adjoining room door closing inside.

"Well, I didn't get to tell her anything. Looks like you'll be in her bad books tomorrow. Good night, Joe," Violet said, stopping at the threshhold.

Joseph reached out and grabbed her hand."No, stay the night."

"Joe," Violet said, pulling her hand away. "I have a boyfriend."

"You do?" he asked. He looked genuinely surprised.

"Yes, I do. Good night!"

Violet turned and walked away. She heard Joe's door click shut behind her. She breathed out. It had been a long night.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

"John."

"So...I'm here."

"Good," Sherlock replied, placing his hands under his chin in thoughtful repose.

John regarded Sherlock for a moment, then sat down in the armchair opposite him.

"What was so urgent?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Sherlock, breaking concentration. "Fancy a trip to Manchester with me?"

"What? Now?"

"Yes, why not. Violet will worry if I go by myself, and I thought you could do with a break from your wife."

John let out a breath in irritation. He wouldn't bite. "What's the case?" he asked.

"Dan Corlionne."

"Who's that?"

"Violet's friend. Jake Venucci's right hand man."

John looked worried. "What's he want?"

"He thinks one of his employees is embezzling funds out of his construction company."

"So how come this employee hasn't ended up at the bottom of the Mersey wearing concrete shoes?"

"Because this is a legitimate business. Corlionne doesn't want to take any action until he knows for sure who it is."

"Doesn't that bother you? You'll be pointing the finger at somebody who'll eventually end up dead?"

"Violet assured me that that wouldn't happen."

"Violet did?"

"She only agreed to ask me on Dan's behalf if he gave her his word that nothing except the full weight of the law would end up on this man's shoulders."

"Right then."

"And she insisted I ask you along."

"I hope you don't want me to bring my gun."

"Just a pen, John. And perhaps a calculator."

* * *

"Oh God! Who are you?" Violet cried, standing up from the sofa in her hotel room and facing the intruder. She felt self-conscious wearing nothing but Sherlock's shirt, which thankfully covered her knickers.

"Sorry, Miss Hunter. I came in with Mandi. I'm just getting a water for her?"

"Fuckin' Mandi!" Violet muttered under her breath.

She stormed off to seek refuge in her bedroom, carrying her bowl of scrambled eggs and her coffee. She hadn't bothered skyping Sherlock as he had sent her a text sometime during the night informing her that he and John were on their way to Manchester.

She was relieved he was taking Danny's case. That meant a lot to both her and Danny. Danny was trying to make these legitimate businesses successful in their own right so he could slowly move away from Jake's illegal activities. Not that he admitted as much to her, but she could read between the lines.

_Fucking Mandi._ So much for not hooking up with anyone remotely related to the movie until the last week. She's just making up her own rules. This guy was from engineering or somewhere. And now he was here in her hotel room! Violet Hunter's hotel room! Violet had never wanted to feel like a spoilt, indulgent actress, but she thought that this was not appropriate.

She sent Mandi a text.

VIOLET: [ I want him out of here! ]

She sat on her bed, finishing off her eggs and waited. Shortly there was a gentle knocking at her bedroom door.

"I hope you're going to apologise!" she yelled.

But it wasn't Mandi. "Uh, it's me, Paul. There's ah...you've got a visitor."

_What the fuck?!_ "What?" she yelled back.

"It's .. ah... Joseph Irkhardt. He's at the door."

Violet leant her head back against the back of the bed and closed her eyes. She sighed then hopped out of bed. She pulled on a pair of jeans and strode out of her room. She just saw Paul disappearing into Mandi's room.

Opening the hotel room door, she found Joe standing in the corridor leaning against the wall opposite her doorway.

"Hey," he said, looking bleary eyed, but otherwise fresh from a morning shower.

"Morning," Violet replied, eyeing him with suspicion.

"I just wanted to stop by and apologise for last night," he said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it. I get it. You were drunk," Violet replied, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Can I come in for a minute?" he asked expectantly.

Violet held the door open for him. _Sure, why not. Everybody else is playing hotel room shuffle this morning._

"Look, I wouldn't normally do that, just so you know," Joe began, as Violet shut the door after him. "I'm not an arsehole."

"Good to know."

"So, had I known you had a boyfriend, I wouldn't have come onto you like that."

"I'm fine about that. Really I am. Let's just forget it okay?" Violet replied, her face softening.

"Good. Thanks," he answered. He ran his eyes down her shirt and frowned. "Is that a man's shirt you're wearing?"

Violet grinned. "Yes, it's my boyfriend's."

A look of alarm came over Joe's face. "Oh, fuck! Is that who answered the door just then?"

Violet laughed. "No, that's some guy my assistant ended up with. No, my boyfriend is in London...well Manchester today. Anyway, he's in the UK. I just stole his shirt to sleep in. Pathetic really."

"Oh, no, that's... probably really... romantic or something," he mumbled looking embarrassed.

"Well I'm glad we got this cleared up," Violet remarked, moving toward the door. "Are you going to be well enough to hang from a harness today?"

"Oh God. Yeah, hope I don't chuck up or anything."

Joseph moved toward the door as Violet opened it for him. "See you later!" she said.

He winked, then left.

* * *

Violet lay on her bed on her stomach, gently stretching her legs which felt as though they had seized up after their rigorous training session on Saturday. She was looking forward to a lazy Sunday in bed, and perhaps take in some sights with Mandi in the afternoon - that's if Mandi ever made it back to their room.

While Mandi had spent Saturday night out partying with her new found love, Violet spent the night in, reading her Stacia Jecks novel. She had sent a message to Jim, with her thanks once again along with the title and author's name. She didn't want to get her hopes up in case Jim was just some studio exec weirdo who really didn't have any clout at all.

That also reminded her to do a bit of research on Daisy Firmington. She supposed she could ask Sherlock to investigate her. She had died of a drug overdose. Perhaps there were suspicious circumstances? She could just say someone in the studio knew her and it sounded like a fascinating, if tragic, story.

She continued stretching until her phone buzzed. She hoped it wasn't Mandi asking her to rescue her from some obscure seedy place in the suburbs of Brisbane.

SHERLOCK: [ Skype? ]

_Oh no._ She wasn't in the mood for that again!

She grabbed her computer from her bedroom floor and dialled Sherlock.

"Hi!" she said.

He was sitting in his armchair by the fire, not on his bed, thank goodness.

"Just got back from Manchester," he said, sipping a cup of tea.

"How did you go?"

"Found the culprits. There were two of them, working in partnership. Dan's going to turn them over to the fraud squad."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Did you see Jake at all?"

"Nope."

"And how's John?"

"Good."

"What else are you working on?"

"I've got some people following Tevish Stewart's wife around."

"Oh! I thought he was worried about publicity? Didn't he only want you performing the surveillance?"

"Homeless network. They don't know who she is."

Violet grinned. "So I was wondering if you could look up somebody for me."

"Oh?"

"An actress called Daisy Firmington. I just want to know if there were any suspicious circumstances surrounding her death."

"When did she die?" Sherlock asked, already tapping away at his keyboard.

"A couple of years ago?"

"I'm on it," he said.

"Violet!" called Mandi from inside the hotel room. She suddenly opened Violet's door. "Did you fuck Joseph Irk...oh!" she stopped abruptly when she saw Violet's computer on her lap.

She swiftly closed the door again.

Violet turned back to her screen. Sherlock had stopped typing and was looking at her.

"Can you just wait a minute?" she asked Sherlock.

"Of course," he said impassively.

Violet breathed out deeply, placed her computer on the bed, and went out into the main room where she found Mandi sitting at the breakfast bench staring at her computer screen.

"What?" Violet asked.

Mandi spun around. "Oh, Violet! I'm so sorry! Did Sherlock hear me?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course he did."

"So is it true?"

"You've got to be joking!"

"Photos," Mandi said, pivotting her laptop so Violet could see the screen.

_Of course there are photos,_ Violet thought - photos in the nightclub of her and Joe talking, photos taken outside the hotel when she had her hands to his face, and another when he had his arm around her.

_No photos of us fucking though._

Violet felt like she had a sudden headache.

"Glad you're on to it so promptly," Violet muttered, walking away.

"It was Alice. She texted me."

"Alice?" Violet asked, stopping where she was. "I didn't know you two were talking again?"

"Well, texting actually. She's sorry about everything that happened."

"Oh good."

Violet continued into her bedroom thinking, _Alice never apologised to me._

She sighed as she sat back down on her bed. Sherlock was reading something on his screen and frowning.

"There are photos," she said. "It's not..."

"...what I think," he finished.

She watched him as he navigated some windows, then tapped at his keyboard.

"How do you spell Irkhardt?" he asked. "Never mind, got it."

She studied his face as he clicked through the photos.

"We were in a nightclub, and then we shared a taxi back to our hotel."

Sherlock looked directly into the webcam as he spoke. "Violet, you don't have to explain anything to me."

"I know," she replied in a small voice. "But I was an idiot to not think about how things look. I should just not be seen in public with any other males."

"Well you can't live your life like that," he said softly. "Anyway, it looks like you're telling him off. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

Violet smiled weakly, but she still felt ill. "He was drunk. I deposited him into his hotel room. Alone."

"Good."

"He's a nice guy, really."

"Violet."

"Sorry."

"So...Daisy Firmington. I'll have to see if I can somehow get a referral to the LAPD. That's where she died."

"Don't go to too much trouble."

"I should establish contacts with local law enforcement agencies if I'm going to follow you around the world," Sherlock said, smiling slyly.

Violet felt comforted by that statement.

* * *

After that first week on set, Violet felt much more comfortable with her work and less like an imposter. She had given Mandi a lecture on appropriate behaviour, threatening to fire her and ship her back to London if she ever brought anyone back to the hotel room again.

Her hair was finally dyed blue, and the extensions were to be added each morning so she didn't have to sleep with them in. Then she had to endure the comments and laughter from everybody else. She really did look like a mermaid.

After the second week of shooting minor scenes and training for the major fight scenes, the co-stars all decided to take advantage of the 30 degree Queensland weather and head to the Sunshine Coast for the weekend. They hired a couple of vans which were driven by eager production assistants. Their trainer, thinking they had all worked hard during the week, gave them Saturday off.

Violet wanted to relax, but she kept thinking about paparazzi. She piled her blue hair up into a bun and hid it underneath a large sunhat. Joe had just smiled enigmatically when she talked to him about the photos, saying, "It happens all the time. The press have me listed as having way more girlfriends that I've actually ever had, just because I stood next to someone at a party!"

Violet didn't want that same reputation, as false as it was. In London she was always photographed with girlfriends when she went out. So on the Sunshine Coast she made sure she always stood next to another female when they were at the beach - either Mandi or Emma her hairstylist, or one or two of the assistants. She was relieved when Heath's girlfriend decided to join them as well.

Violet allowed one photo, though. It couldn't be helped, she thought slyly. All of the girls, Emma and Mandi included, wanted photos taken with the surf lifesavers at King's Beach, Caloundra. Emma thought they were in much better shape than the Rise of the Five stars, but photos had to be taken to prove this anyway. And before they knew it, there were cameras everywhere. Eventually the production cast and crew had to escape back to their vans, all sandy and sweaty and smelling of sunscreen.

* * *

"Can I have your autograph?"

It was Joseph, grinning stupidly at Violet and holding out a large photo of her as Christa from Regency Road.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No! I'm deadly serious! My mum is a huge Regency Road fan. She watches it on cable. When she heard you were going to be in this movie she made me get this photo of you. You have to sign it!"

Violet asked Mandi for a pen. They were all having a lunch break.

"What's her name?"

"Leonie."

Violet scrawled, "Dear Leonie, thanks for watching! love Violet xxx" at the bottom of the photo.

"Sweet!" Joe remarked. He handed the photo to Toni saying, "Send this to mum, will you?"

"You send it!" Toni said sullenly, tapping away at her phone.

Violet looked at her in surprise. Joe just sighed and walked away carrying the photo with him.

In the afternoon, while they were waiting to shoot a dialogue between Satis, Apis and Kephri, Violet said to Joe, "Why do you have an assistant who isn't very helpful?"

"What do you mean?"

"Toni. She doesn't take your calls or run errands for you."

"She does sometimes."

"Does she only get paid sometimes?" Violet asked facetiously.

"She gets an allowance," he said, distracted by the very large weapon the props department just handed him.

"Why don't you fire her and get someone who's more competent?" Violet asked.

"Because she's my little sister," he said, grinning.

* * *

Violet didn't want to spend another Friday night out on the town and risk being photographed in a compromising position with any of her male co-stars. She opted to have a girls' night in with Emma, her hairstylist and Georgia, another woman from the art department. She had invited Joe's sister, Toni, but she had declined. Mandi was going clubbing with Paul, and possibly some of the other cast and crew.

The girls drank cocktails that Georgia concocted. She had experience from her days as a bartender, she said. Violet only tried four mixes, feeling very drunk after the first two.

After the girls had left, Violet decided to call Sherlock. It was after 11pm, so that meant the early afternoon in London. And she was feeling slightly amorous.

VIOLET: [ Skype? ]

SHERLOCK: [ On a case. ]

SHERLOCK: [ I love you! ]

Violet felt sullen, but once her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep. She woke with a slight hangover, no memory loss, thank goodness, then set about rehydrating herself for Saturday afternoon training. She tried Sherlock again, thinking it was late London time, but he didn't reply to her text.

The fight scenes were going to be filmed in the next week, and that meant harnesses and trampolines, single sticks and for some, motion capture suits. And she had to fight with a great big pair of antelope horns sticking up out of her head, with long blue hair swishing around her waist.

When the day came around for them all to assemble in their costumes for the first time, there was a great feeling of comradery and celebration on the set. The official photographer was there and Max's son was shooting it as a home movie for his dad.

Violet asked Mandi to take a photo of her on her phone to send to Sherlock. She wondered if he'd think her breast size was acceptable compared to the comic. She sent him the photo in the late afternoon so he'd get it upon waking, but she didn't receive a reply. _Probably rolling his eyes,_ she thought.

The cast, crew and studio execs had a mini celebration in the catering pavillion that evening, although they had another week of shooting those scenes in costume at the lot in Brisbane, then two weeks in Sydney. But it was a milestone that they thought needed to be applauded.

Violet was talking to the 2nd Assistant Director, Lynda Bloch, and Heath and his girlfriend when she spied Jim Moriarty arriving on the arm of Alissen King, the Assistant Director. Violet's stomach churned involuntarily and she wondered whether it was out of nervousness for his sudden interest in her career, or because she found him a little bit creepy.

The pair came over to Violet's group, with Jim congratulating everyone on a fantastic day's effort. They all talked about the coming weeks, when Alissen was interrupted by a phonecall. She moved away from the group to answer it, and Violet noticed that this was when Jim made his move to talk to her privately.

"Violet, a word?" he said in her ear.

Violet moved away from the group with Jim while the others were discussing sequels.

"Now I've contacted that author, Stacia Jecks..."

"You have?" Violet was taken aback.

"Yes. Nice lady, if slightly eccentric. She hasn't heard of you though. Not that she watches any television or ventures out of her cottage in fact. But she's interested in collaborating with a screenwriter to come up with a screenplay."

"Oh my God, that's amazing." _He'd done all that in two weeks?_

"So I've got a writer standing by, and I'll give you this card."

Jim pulls out his wallet, and takes out a business card.

"This is for Martin Schumack. He's a producer. Have you seen _The Wealth of a Serial Killer_ or _Newton's Wife_?"

"Yes. Both," Violet said, her heart skipping a beat. _God, yes_.

"Good. Then you know he can get good people in. He'll give you a call. Jecks is working on her next novel so she won't be available until the middle of next year. And then with the screenplay to be written you'd be waiting another six to twelve months."

"Right."

"So just bide your time, my dear. Schumack will be in touch, eventually, just to keep you posted."

"Thank you, Jim. This is all sounding incredible. And you've organised it so quickly."

"I'm not one for organising committee meetings and then discussing something for three months. If I want something done, I get it done."

"I'm so happy Stacia Jecks is open to the idea."

"There isn't any door I cannot open, Violet. I'll introduce you to her when we're both in London next. She lives in Ealing."

"I'll look forward to that. Are you in London often?"

"Once or twice a year. On business."

"Oh. Are you involved in the British film industry as well?"

"Oh no, my portfolio is wide and varied."

From behind Jim, Violet saw Alissen re-entering the pavillion. Jim must have seen her subtle change in expression for he hastily added, "Not a word of this to Alissen. If she thinks I can do favours for people in the industry she'll be wondering why I'm not pushing anything her way. And between you and me, she's not quite there yet."

"Understood."

"Excuse me, Violet," Allissen said sweetly. "Jim and I must be off."

"Of course. I'll see you both later!"

* * *

Violet flipped her single stick around in her hands. It was marked with motion capture sensors so it could be turned into a watery weapon from the Nile in post-production.

"How did you enjoy our romantic holiday by the sea?" Joe said, strolling over to her.

"What holiday was that? Did I miss something?"

"Did you see the photos from Caloundra?"

"With the surf lifesavers?"

"No. The one of just you and I in the water," he replied, grinning broadly at her.

Violet frowned. "We were never in the water together."

"I think we were standing in the vicinity of each other with everyone else around us, but they cropped everyone else out. Part of our ongoing off-screen romance the press have us doing."

"You're kidding me!" Violet said fiercely.

"Hey, settle down! It's no big deal," he said casually.

"Not to you, obviously."

"I don't mind it. Gets Chelsea back for fucking off with someone else."

"Well I don't like being used in this way. And I have a boyfriend," Violet said, pouting. She twirled her stick a couple more times, dropping it in the process. Joe picked it up for her, twirled it around expertly and then handed it back.

"Show off," she smirked. "And how many girlfriends have you pissed off by moving on so quickly."

"None. I'm a gentlemen."

"Really?"

"I come from a small town. I was taught to treat women with respect."

"So why on earth would Chelsea cheat on you?"

"Because she believes everything she reads on the internet."

Violet and Joe's gossip session was soon interrupted by their trainer ordering Joe back to the sit up bench.

"Catchya!" Joe called out to Violet.

* * *

Violet wasn't getting anywhere trying to contact Sherlock that week. She'd text "I love you," and he'd send back "I love you, too." But if she sent him a request to skype, he'd reply that he was busy. She rang him one morning but he didn't answer. Instead he rang her back a minute later, told her he was going to Germany and not to worry. He hung up.

Violet thought she'd try John.

VIOLET: [ How's the babysitting of Sherlock going? ]

JOHN: [ Great! He's keeping himself busy. ]

VIOLET: [ What case is he working on? ]

JOHN: [ Following some chat show host's wife around and also a case from Mycroft. ]

VIOLET: [ Is that why he's going to Germany? ]

JOHN: [ Yes. How was the beach? Looked nice and warm, Mary said. ]

VIOLET: [ It was lovely! We were forbidden to get tans though. Surf lifesavers were particularly hot - tell Mary! ]

JOHN: [ Yeah, I'll remember to do that. How's the film going? ]

VIOLET: [ Leaping through the air on a harness this week. Kicking butt in front of a green screen to serpent monsters who will be CGI'd in later. ]

JOHN: [ Sounds amazing! Can't wait to see the finished product. Your blue hair looks...interesting. Sherlock showed me the photo. ]

VIOLET: [ Shhh! It's top secret! ]

JOHN: [ I won't tell anyone. ]

VIOLET: [ I'd better go. My ride's here. Give my love to Mary, and give Sherlock a hug and big sloppy kiss from me! ]

JOHN: [ Sure Violet! To the first request, not the second! ]

* * *

Violet was all sweaty and in need of a shower back in her trailer. Her Nile goddess costume didn't allow her skin to breathe all that much. As she crossed the backlot, she encountered Jim Moriarty walking in the opposite direction.

"Violet! Glad to have caught you!"

"Have you been on set all week, Jim?"

"In and out. I stopped by to take Alissen to lunch. I'm heading back to the states this afternoon."

"Oh, you won't be coming to Sydney with us?"

"Not this time. I have business to get back to. Which reminds me - I've been chatting to some contacts in the British film industry."

"So you do have contacts?"

"I have an enormous network of people who know people. Actually Sir Henry Masters went to school with my mother."

"Sir Henry! He's adorable! And it was such an honour to work with him on Catherine Hilderness."

"Yes, he had lovely things to say about you. I haven't seen it myself, but he thinks you should've been cast as Catherine for the entire mini series."

"Oh, I'm flattered, especially coming from an industry veteran such as himself."

"He said he's got something in development you'd be perfect for, but he'll contact you. He intially considered Ursula Aldman, but I really think she should be getting out of the game now, don't you?"

Violet felt uneasy. "I don't think I could ever say anything bad about her work."

Jim regarded her for a moment, before narrowing his eyes. "You know, you really shouldn't be so supportive of other actresses when you're all vying for the same roles. Politeness won't get you very far in this industry."

Violet swallowed. "I don't feel as though I can step on the backs of other actresses in order to get to the top."

"Learn to," Jim said in all seriousness.

The statement chilled Violet's heart. Is that what the industry is really like? Everyone clamouring to be at the top?

"I'm just not that sort of person," she said defensively.

"What sort of person are you? Because what I see of you in the press is someone desperate to break out of the British posh girl label and establish herself as a bit of a player on the international market by flirting with her American co-star despite the fact that she has a sensible English boyfriend back home."

"That's a load of crap for starters."

Jim chuckled. "I read it online so it must be true. I love the internet."

Violet sifted uneasily. The more she spoke to Jim Moriarty, the more he left her with a bad taste in her mouth.

"I'm not saying what you've been doing is all negative, Violet. I do think you need to ditch the posh boyfriend though; he's not good for your image."

"He's not a part of my image. He's a part of my life."

"You know how celebrity romances go. There's no way you can both hold it together. You're going to become a A-list actor, and he's going to get left far, far behind. You have to be the centre of your own universe, and he won't accept that. The trouble with actresses is that they're so needy and self-centred, and you have to be, my dear. Ditch the boyfriend, play around a bit, just try to have some fun, and rise to the top unhindered by personal baggage. Just a bit of professional advice."

Violet couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I'm perfectly capable of keeping my personal life separate from my professional life. This is just a job after all. And I really don't think my relationship is any of your business."

Violet made to leave when Jim said, "It's going to happen very soon, Violet - your rise to the top. You'd better tell him to hang on for dear life."

* * *

**A/N: **some things which may help me keep you happy: my chapters have grown in length from averaging around 3K to over 6K. Is this now too much for you? Should I break them up to smaller bite-sized chunks again? Are you having trouble remembering what happened in the previous chapters? Do you go back and reread previous chaps in order to get up to speed again? I noticed one or two authors writing a brief recap at the beginning of each chapter, kind of like a "last time on Copper Beeches" thing. As I'm over two thirds of the way through I don't think I'll change my format now. Are my updates coming fast enough? Too fast? At over 6K words I don't think I can update any faster though. The whole plot is in my head and I can't churn out the words fast enough. It's a good thing I can touch type. But enough about me.

I just need you to concentrate now. As Moriarty said, _It's going to happen very soon._  
The rise, or The fall?


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N: **Thanks for all your kind words and reassurances!

x

* * *

**Chapter 56**

How dare Jim make such ridiculous statements about her relationship! _Why don't people just mind their own business_, she thought, including Mandi in her little mental rant.

She was frustrated at not being able to get in contact with Sherlock. Thinking bad thoughts about him made her reflect on both Mandi's and Jim's statements about her relationship with him. Is she needy? _Oh God, I'm needy. And self-centred._

_If I don't say those words for twenty-four hours or three hundred hours then know that I love you. And I miss you._

She sighed and stretched out on the hotel sofa with her phone in her hand. _I know you do Sherlock. But couldn't you still ring?_

She decided to call Danny to find out if he was happy with the work Sherlock did for him. She sent him a text first.

VIOLET: [ Are you available to chat? ]

Mandi breezed in. "I'm not staying long. Paul's taking me out to dinner tonight."

"Tuesday night?"

"Yes, because he'll be setting up in Sydney while I have to stay here with you. So it's a farewell dinner," she said, pouting.

"A farewell dinner? You'll see him next week. And I'm sorry your little job as my assistant is getting in the way of your love life."

Violet closed her eyes as Mandi stomped into her bedroom to get ready. Violet was feeling despondent, but she had an idea for another text to send Sherlock.

VIOLET: [ Have you read the Arthur Avenue script yet? ]

She decided to check her emails. She hadn't read any for ages as she had been relying on Mandi to pass along any important messages.

_Dammit_. Several messages from Francine Bodehouse, the casting director for _Improbity_. She hadn't decided whether to take the part or not. Well, she need to make a decision right now.

_Hmm. How will Sherlock cope with me simulating sex with another man?_

_Not very well._

That was all she cared about. Sherlock had said it was up to her as he couldn't gauge what effect her choices would make on her career overall.

Violet concluded that she could skip this movie, so she sent a quick email back to Francine.

Her phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ No. ]

Violet immediately rang him. He didn't answer. What was with that?

SHERLOCK: [ Can't talk right now. ]

_Great_.

VIOLET: [ Are you being held hostage somewhere ? ]

SHERLOCK: [ Sort of. ]

VIOLET: [ Sherlock! Ring me! ]

SHERLOCK: [ Shh! ]

VIOLET: [ You can't shh me. What do you mean 'sort of'? ]

SHERLOCK: [ You're yelling. ]

VIOLET: [ I'm texting. ]

SHERLOCK: [ You're using exclamation marks. You're yelling. ]

VIOLET: [ Doesn't matter. Ring me. ]

SHERLOCK: [ Not now. ]

VIOLET: [ I miss your voice. Ring me. ]

SHERLOCK: [ I love you. ]

VIOLET: [ Ring me. ]

SHERLOCK: [ I love you. ]

VIOLET: [ I love you too. ]

_Dammit Sherlock._

VIOLET: [ What happened to you coming to Australia? ]

SHERLOCK: [ I'm in Luxembourg at the moment. ]

VIOLET: [ Is that why you're whispering ? ]

SHERLOCK: [ L.O.L.=Laughed out loud ]

_Oh God, Sherlock. You can be such a dinosaur sometimes._

VIOLET: [ When are you coming to Australia? ]

SHERLOCK: [ I have to go break into a warehouse now. Turning phone off. ]  
.

_My God. He'll do anything to not come to Australia, including breaking into strange places in Luxembourg._

Her phone buzzed again.

DANNY: [ In a meeting. ]

_Dammit_.

Mandi emerged from her room brushing her hair.

"You didn't tell me about Francine Bodehouse's emails."

"Yes I did," Mandi replied, checking herself out in the mirror by the door.

"No, you didn't."

Violet returned to scanning her list of emails.

Mandi spoke to Violet's reflection in the mirror. "Alice said that Camryn Sayer has pretty much claimed the part as hers anyway."

"Is Alice up with all the celebrity gossip then?"

"She loves it."

"You don't tell her anything about me do you?"

"Nothing that isn't true."

"Oh, Mandi!"

"She's your friend too!"

"Hardly."

"That's not very nice, Violet!"

"Just don't gossip about me to her, okay? I don't feel comfortable about that. She loves social media and I don't want her repeating things."

"How about the truth?"

"Nothing."

"You're so uptight! You used to be fun, Vi!"

_Oh, not this again._

Violet continued reading her screen.

"What did Justin Behme want? Oh Mandi. He wanted me to ring. Fuck, you're hopeless."

"I'm also gone, you ungrateful bitch!" Mandi snapped, and she stormed out of the hotel room.

Violet hastily rang Justin and apologised for taking so long. He told her that the funding for _Arthur Avenue_ was steady but slow and wondered if she could come to the U.S to do the talk show route with him. Violet gulped. U.S talk shows? She found that a little daunting. She told him that she'd let him know once she was back in London, with _Rise of the Five_ done and dusted. _Except for the promotional tours._ She sighed again.

Violet sent Danny another message, while she heated up dinner in the microwave.

VIOLET: [ Just wondering how you went with Sherlock? ]

She didn't expect Danny to reply straight away and was surprised that he rang her twenty minutes later. He only had favourable things to say about Sherlock, which Violet found surprising. She thought Sherlock would be curt or just plain rude. Perhaps he had been, and Danny was trying to spare her feelings.

There were three days of filming left in Brisbane, and if it all went well, they wouldn't have to continue over the weekend. That meant that cast and crew would be heading off to Sydney. Most of them had a one week break, and that included Violet, before the external city scenes would be shot over two weeks. Most of them were deciding to spend the week relaxing at Bondi.

Violet only had one more scene herself on the Wednesday afternoon, so theoretically she and Mandi could leave for Sydney the very next day.

She spent Wednesday morning getting her roots touched up. Aqua Rush it was called. Emma was just blow-drying her hair when a production assistant stopped by.

"Miss Hunter, you have a meeting in the AD's office at one."

"Why?"

"Just passing on the message, ma'am."

"Mandi, what time am I supposed to be on set this afternoon?"

"Three."

"Make-up?"

"One-thirty."

"That may be cutting it fine."

"I can add your extensions now if you like, and touch it up later. Then Erin only has to do make-up," suggested Emma.

"Oh, fantastic. That will work."

But Violet was worried. _A meeting with Alissen? Or was it a meeting with the producers as well? They didn't say meeting with the Director, but the Assistant Director. Production is nearly finished, so - what was it for?_

After lunch Violet made her way to the administration block. She was annoyed that she had to argue with a production assistant that she was asked to attend a meeting in the AD's office and was told that Alissen was already in a meeting that was scheduled from 12:30 to 1:30 over in the EP's office.

Exasperated, Violet turned to leave when a familiar voice behind her spoke.

"Your meeting's with me."

Violet turned back toward Alissen's office. Jim Moriarty was leaning casually against the door frame.

"You're back? Or you haven't left yet?"

Jim didn't answer her question, but instead beckoned her into the office with a slight tilt of his head. Violet followed him inside, with a sense of foreboding. He shut the door after her.

"So have a seat, my dear."

Jim motioned Violet over to a couple of armchairs in front of Alissen's desk.

"I have loved this. This little game of ours," he said, walking slowly toward the desk. "Playing movie studio bigshot. Taking you under my wing." He perched himself on the corner of the desk facing Violet. "Your rise to becoming Queen of Hollywood has only just begun. It's been a bit of a fairy tale for you hasn't it?"

Violet was bewildered. _Little game? _Playing_ movie studio bigshot. So it was all a lie?_

"I don't understand. What's all this about?"

"Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain," he murmured, almost to himself.

"What?"

"I did try to warn him. I sent my messenger along, only he got distracted during delivery, and the message wasn't relayed with enough - gravitas," he said sadly.

"Jim, I don't -"

"- understand? Oh, try to!" He looked annoyed. The kind of look of irritation, Violet thought, that Sherlock would give when someone didn't follow his line of reasoning.

"Jacob," he stated. "I gave Jacob Venucci the message to relay to you, but he became distracted by his feelings for you. Oh well," he said, shrugging. "Let me just give you the message myself. Tell Sherlock to back off."

Violet froze. She could feel the blood draining from her face. She knew these words in a completely different context. _Jake? Message? Sherlock. Back off._

"Now what did he call me?" he continued, when Violet was too stunned to reply. "Consulting criminal? Controlling brain of the underworld? I rather like that one. I've got to admit that's rather sexy."

"You...you're..."

"Yes. You can say it..." He looked at Violet rather encouragingly.

"You can't be."

"This has been interesting. But Daddy's had enough now," he added in a sing-song voice. He stood up. "Tell Sherlock to back off."

Violet rose from her seat. "How can you be?" she asked faintly. Her world was spinning. It was like two completely different universes colliding. Jim seemed so normal, if a little intense. How could he be this spider in the centre of a vast web of criminal activity, as Sherlock had once described him.

Jim looked slightly hurt. "How can I be what? Cleverer than your boyfriend? Sherlock and I are the same. Except he's boring. Here," he said, reaching across the desk for Alissen's laptop. "Let me give you an extra incentive."

He turned it around to face them both. Violet swallowed hard as Jim pressed play on a video that was already on the screen.

"Probably not as well produced as your movies, but I was relying on some rather dubious characters to film it for me at the time."

Violet frowned as she watched footage of a young woman and a man eating an amazing looking meal.

"The camera angle's shocking," said Jim, "But wait til she gets up and walks around...oh, here she goes."

Violet watched as the woman made her way over to her companion and kissed him on the cheek. She smiled affectionately at him. It was...

"Emily," Violet whispered.

"Yes!" Jim exclaimed, clearly happy that Violet had recognised her former drug-addled friend. "And doesn't she look radiant! It's amazing what a shower and a few thousand pounds in clothing and jewellery can do! And that's my man Owen. He plucked her up right off the street. Instead of paying £20 for a blow job, he paid £20,000 for a rental apartment, clothing and all the smack she could possibly need."

Violet couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, and why. The scene changed to footage taken in another room - a well-furnished bedroom. Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed and Owen was wrapping a tourniquet around her arm.

"I love this bit," Jim said smiling. "Owen has a medical degree."

Violet couldn't watch, although she had seen this - been there - hundreds of times before. She shifted uneasily in her chair.

"Oh don't worry. She doesn't die. Sorry for the spoiler. There!"

Owen gently lowered Emily to the bed as she sank into her heroin-induced blissful state.

Violet forced back tears, "Why are you showing me this?"

Jim pressed the pause button and looked at her with such affection which confused Violet.

"Unfortunately sometimes fairy tales don't always have a happy ending. One day Owen may accidentally up Emily's dose. It does happen. So sad." His face fell, echoing his sentiment. "But you'll like the next one," he said, his face brightening.

"I don't want to see anymore,"

Jim turned on her, his face hardening. "Do you think this will all go away if you just ask nicely? I told you politeness will not get you anywhere in this business. His voice took on a mocking tone once more as he said, "But were you listening?" He turned back to the laptop. "Now watch!" he commanded.

He pressed play, but then quickly paused it again. "I should add," he began sheepishly, "That I haven't obtained the relevant permission to use this next bit of footage. You won't tell anyone will you?"

Violet's mouth had gone dry. There was no getting out of this...hell.

The footage was a very familiar scene from Regency Road. Christa was begging the sexy resident mechanic to fix her radiator for free.

"Go on, tell her to sod off!" Jim said irritatingly. "Now this scene's much better," he said as the clip changed to amateur footage inside a nightclub.

Matt was dressed in drag and dancing seductively with another man, also in drag.

"The trouble with staying in the closet is that just anyone can open the door for you. And this young man has just been offered a part in a romantic comedy - you know, one of those pathetic ones they have based on sentimental holidays, where everyone pairs off but they use characters from demographics to suit everyone: an old couple, a gay couple, teenagers. Well, you get the point. I hope you don't ever appear in one of those, Violet. I will be a teensy bit disappointed if you do. But to Matt - this is a chance to appear on the big screen. He'll be devasted if anybody finds out he's actually gay. That could be so detrimental to his career. He may even have suicidal thoughts."

Jim paused the video and stared at the keyboard in silence seemingly out of respect for the fallen soap star.

"Jim," Violet managed to say in a soft voice. "We don't have to do this."

"No we don't," he replied unemotionally. "This is utterly boring. But to be fair, we have to give Mandi her 15 minutes of fame."

Violet gasped. _Mandi?_

He pressed play again and this clip was very badly lit but it was unmistakably a sex video. Violet turned away. Mandi and Paul.

"You know," Jim began, "I think she likes him." He nodded toward the screen, but Violet didn't have to see. She could hear her friend approaching orgasm. "He could probably convince her to stay a while longer in Australia. Go on a few tours. I heard the outback's amazing at this time of year. It's the wet season, you know - waterfalls in Kakadu National Park, wetlands, crocodiles, trekking through bushland. Did I mention crocodiles?"

He pressed pause again and turned to face Violet.

"And so there you are. The little message you're to deliver to Sherlock is: back off, or your three friends will die. One, two, three," he said as he clicked through to the final "scene" which showed a composition of Emily, Matt and Mandi. "I should've turned this into a Powerpoint Presentation," he said absentmindedly. He stood up and tapped away at the keyboard. "I wonder if I still can?" he murmured distractedly.

Violet breathed a shaky breath out. He was a psychotic killer. She should...should...she looked around wildly. A letter opener lay on the desk.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, closing the laptop lid softly and turning back to her.

"Violence toward me won't have any effect."

"You're a monster!" she spat, her fists clenched.

Jim looked affronted. "Businessman," he corrected her.

"Why are you doing this? Sherlock hasn't been working on your case for ages."

"Well then he's been lying to you, my dear. I wonder what he's been up to while you've been sweating it out on set these last six weeks?"

_Germany? Luxembourg?_

"Now a couple of caveats. I have to be allowed to continue. Me. Jim Moriarty has to be allowed to carry on as normal - as a businessman in some parts of the world, as a Hollywood studio executive in the other. You're challenge, my dear Violet, is to deliver my warning to Sherlock without giving away my identity. Do you think you can do that?"

Violet nodded imperceptibly.

"Oh, you know it's null and void if you break up. I can't really threaten him if I can't use you. Although there's always Dr John Watson and Mrs Hudson." His drifted off as he muttered,"I really must get a housekeeper and a best friend. A live-in one. Must be so funny."

Violet took a step away from him which seemed to rouse him from his private monologue.

"Well that's it. In summary, warn Sherlock and don't mention my name - if there's just a hint out there in the big wide world that I'm being investigated I'll take that rather personally. Well, you'd better be off. Make-up and all that. Try not to cry. They don't like that."

Violet was frozen to the spot. Her first instinct, to smash her fist into his throat had all but disappeared with the way he spoke so softly. If it wasn't for the words he used, she would've thought they ought to accompany their conversation with a cup of tea.

Jim bent down and picked up an apple from Alissen's coffee table. He walked over to the door, turning to say to Violet, "Oh, did you hear about Natasha Camillion, the French actress whose career I established early on? Died in a car crash this morning. Such a shame. Died young - just like Daisy Firmington."

He then walked out of the office, throwing the apple into the air and catching it.

Violet breathed out. She couldn't move. She didn't understand all this. _Did it really happen? Was he for real? Are the cast and crew going to leap out now, yelling, "You've been pranked"? No, of course not. This is sick. Sick and pyschotic. This man was mentally unstable._

"Miss Hunter?"

Violet jumped. It was just the PA.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Violet turned her back to him. She took a long breath out in order to calm herself. _Just get through this, one moment at a time. Don't fall to pieces yet._

"I've just heard some bad news. Just give me a moment," she managed to say.

She listened for his footsteps dying away before taking another breath in and letting it out slowly.

_Move_.

She could hear the phone ringing out in reception, the laughter of the PA, the clacking of the photocopier, more footsteps, gossipy conversation.

_Move._

_Emily._

_Just move._

_Mandi?_

More laughter from reception. There was a world going on out there, a world where people joked around, drank coffee, carried their little files between production team members. Actors rehearsing their lines, blocking, directors yelling at people, make-up flocking around. Wipe off the bead of sweat, take away that shine.

_Go._

_No._

_Collapse. Fall down. Curl up in a ball. Make it go away._

_Move._

_No._

_Matt._

The sound of a group of people walking along the corridor now. The heads of production returning from their meeting.

_Go._

_Now._

She moved, slowly at first toward the door, and then forced herself to keep going before they rounded the corner.

Violet walked quickly along the corridor, but then suddenly ducked into the ladies' bathroom off to the side. She just made it into the cubicle, flipping the lid up in time.

Her stomach heaved, emptying its contents. Several dry retches later, Violet collapsed onto the bathroom floor. She pulled at the toilet paper dispenser, and wiped her mouth.

_I can't do this, _she thought in a wild panic._ I can't go back out there. I can't do this movie. I can't act normally._

She closed her eyes and leant her head back on the wall momentarily. She heard the bathroom door opening.

"Are you all right in there?" came a voice,

"I ate something bad," she said reflexively.

_A lie._

_The world is full of lies._

_And liars._

_And deceivers._

_And megalomaniacs._

That last thought made her giggle.

"Do you want me to get someone?"

"I'll be fine," she said weakly. _Just as soon as I assemble Anuket's Children. We have a badass studio exec to destroy. Don't mind me. I just need to put my costume on first._

Violet stood up and flushed the toilet. She could tell that whoever it was who spoke to her was still hovering.

"Could you just get me a drink of water please?" she asked.

She heard the outer door closing, so Violet left the cubicle, washed her hands and splashed water on her face. She was just drying it with a paper towel when the production assistant re-entered the bathroom with a plastic cup of water.

"Thank you," Violet replied. "I'll be out in a minute."

The PA just stood there staring at her.

"You can go now," Violet said abruptly. _Go back to your normal life. There is nothing to see here. The world is a relatively safe place_, she thought as the PA quickly exited.

Violet remembered a conversation John had recalled for her one evening when she was dining at John and Mary's, during her and Sherlock's break up.

"There are no arch enemies in real life," John had said to Sherlock. "Doesn't happen."

Whereas Sherlock replied, "Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

Sherlock knew this man existed. Had to exist. Wanted him to exist. And now he had him - an arch enemy.

Violet could confirm that for him. _Yes you have an arch rival, but no, you can't play with him, Sherlock._

Jim had said that he and Sherlock were the same. Sherlock loved homicides and other violent crimes - puzzles to solve. Jim liked homicides and violent crimes. Organising them, anyway. They were a perfect match. But Jim was getting annoyed with Sherlock. What was Sherlock doing? What had he been doing while she was in Australia? Something for Mycroft, John said. So Mycroft had him back working on the Sebastian Moran case then, but it had gone international.

This would be normal for Sherlock. He'd thrive on it.

Violet gulped down the whole cup of water and then refilled it from the basin tap. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. _Blue hair. _She couldn't get used to that.

_I'm a superhero, _she thought. Villains do exist. Do heroes? Is Sherlock her hero? Would Sherlock save the day? No. She had to tell him to stop whatever he was doing. Sherlock could only save them all by not taking any action.

_Yeah._

_Good luck with that._

The door opened again.

"Miss Hunter, you're wanted in make-up."

"I'll be there. Just give me another minute."

The door closed again.

_Just go, Violet. Pretend. Smile. Freak out later. This is Sherlock's world. He'll sort it out._

_Go._

She sighed, finished her water and exited the bathroom. The production assistants were talking amongst themselves at the opposite end of the corridor.

Violet exited the administration building and crossed the lot to the wardrobe and art departments. Erin, her make-up artist, and Emma, her hair-stylist, were waiting for her.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked her, looking concerned.

"I'm fine. Something I ate."

Emma and Erin chatted to each other as they commenced work on her hair and make- up.

_I have to ring Sherlock. I can't text him about it. I have to talk to him._

_Sherlock it's me. You'll never guess who I bumped into on the set of Rise of the Five. Such a funny story. You'll laugh. No, no, nothing as trivial as meeting an A-lister. It was actually your arch enemy. Your nemesis. Funny hey? Well he had lovely things to say about you. Nice guy really. Just a bit warped. He wanted to kill my friends if you didn't stop meddling in his criminal activities. I know! Bummer, huh? And he's set them up so elaborately. What an imagination! So stop what you're doing. I know. Drop everything. Go back to email cases._

_Nobody has to die._

_Emily._

_Mandi._

_Matt._

Violet clenched her fists by her side. She couldn't cry. Not when Erin was doing her lashes.

"You'll never guess what Paul bought me!" Mandi sang as she breezed into the make-up room.

Violet burst into tears.

* * *

Violet was able to convince the girls that she was just hormonal and had received some bad news from home. After her hair was done and her make-up reapplied, Mandi tried to take her aside to quiz her about it, but Violet didn't want to say anything in front of the 3rd AD who had summoned her to the set. Not that she would've told Mandi the truth, she just didn't want anyone to witness her lies and think they were truths anyway.

She asked Mandi for her phone back briefly on their way to the set and had to endure Mandi complaining about why she couldn't send the text on her behalf.

"It's personal," Violet snapped, tapping furiously on the phone.

VIOLET: [ Sherlock I'm going to ring you after 5pm AEST. PLEASE PICK UP - IT'S URGENT! ]

She turned her phone off and handed it back to Mandi.

"Don't go anywhere tonight!" she hissed at her assistant as she entered the set.

Violet was able to complete her final scenes without incident, apart from the fact that she was a few minutes late to the set. She was able to focus, just, and deliver her lines smoothly enough. Perhaps not to her satisfaction, but they were mostly witty one-liners said in between knocking some heads together.

The physicality of her performance served to clear her head slightly. Mandi had already made her own way back to the hotel earlier, so Violet had to wait until she was dropped off there before she could call Sherlock. Mandi had taken her phone with her.

She rang three times, and each time Sherlock didn't pick up. She sent him several text messages again, each along these lines:

VIOLET: [ ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE SHERLOCK! ]

When she could wait no more, she yelled out to Mandi who was sulking in her bedroom.

"Mandi, book us two tickets to London, ASAP!"

Violet got up from the sofa and started throwing random things into her handbag.

"What? No."

"Just do it Mandi! It's important!"

She took off to her room and tried to calmly pack.

"I'm not going with you, Violet," Mandi replied, following her into her bedroom.

"You have to! For fuck's sake. This is important Mandi!"

Mandi put her hands on her hips and glared at Violet. "We're supposed to be in Sydney in a week, and anyway, I thought we were leaving for Sydney tomorrow. What happened to getting there early for the beaches?"

"No, Mandi. We have to get back," Violet replied, not looking at her friend as she pulled out her suitcase.

"Violet, you're going fucking mental! What's this about?"

"I have to see Sherlock."

"Oh," Mandi said, her face hardening. "I'm not flying halfway round the world for that man."

And she walked out of Violet's bedroom. Violet abruptly stopped what she was doing and strode out after Mandi.

"Mandi, it's not a choice! You have to come with me!"

"I'm not getting jetlag again just to hold your hand while you cry about that man!"

"Stop calling him that! And it's not ... what you think."

"Then what is it?"

"I can't say."

"Then I don't have to go with you."

Violet didn't want to say this, but she thought she really had no choice. "I'm ordering you to come as my assistant."

Mandi glared at Violet for a moment and then narrowed her eyes. "Then I quit, you fuckin' stuck up bitch!"

She stormed off into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.

"Mandi!" Violet called in exasperation. "Mandi!" She hovered outside Mandi's door. Normally she wouldn't put up with such crap from Mandi, but she was feeling a bit tentative now that she was responsible for keeping her friend alive.

Mandi re-emerged carrying her bag and a jacket. "I'm heading out."

"Mandi we have to pack," Violet stated.

"I'm already packed. I'll be leaving on a flight tomorrow morning to Sydney."

Violet shook her head and rolled her eyes. "And why would you be doing that if you no longer have a job?"

Mandi just stared at her.

"Mandi please?"

"I don't want to go all the way back to London. That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard."

"Okay," Violet said, crossing her arms and looking down. _Either tell her the whole story or let her stay,_ she thought. She breathed out. "Can you book me a flight then?"

"Yes I can," Mandi said calmly, and she put her things down on the sofa.

Violet returned to her room and packed her smaller bag. She peeked out into the main room. Mandi was looking up flights on her laptop.

"So can you get my luggage taken to Sydney? I'll only take a small bag back home."

"And how long will you be going for?"

"A couple of days, maybe."

Violet had no idea. Telling Sherlock to stop what he was doing - how many minutes, hours or days would they need for that conversation?

"Should I book a return flight?"

"Um...no don't. I'll know once I'm there."

"Violet, how bad is it? Are you guys gonna break up?"

"No! Mandi, fuck no. It's nothing like that. It's something else entirely."

Violet continued packing, as Mandi called out "Two-thirty tomorrow morning. A two hour stopover in Dubai. You'll be in London at 7:30pm."

_Twenty-four hours. A whole day of fucking flying._

"Fine."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

No.

"Yes."

* * *

_Sunglasses and a beanie. At two o'clock in the morning._ Nobody was there to take her picture anyway.

Violet was furious, which was good. It took her mind away from dissolving into a flood of tears again.

_Sherlock! For fuck's sake!_ Why hadn't he called? What if she were lying in some hospital room dying or something. Fucking hell. Was he mad at her? Were there more photos? Was he believing everything he read on the internet? She hadn't imagined what the British press were reporting about her.

She slept, tried to read, barely ate, but drank a bucket-load of water on her flight.

She rang Sherlock and finally got through...to Mrs Hudson.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"He's fixing the washing machine."

Violet sighed. "I'm coming home. Tell him that."

"You're coming home? Why? Is everything all right?"

_Oh great. Now I'm going to make Mrs Hudson worried._

"No, in three weeks. Tell him he's supposed to be in Australia."

She hung up. At least he was there - in London. Not Norway or somewhere like that.

It was drizzling in London when Violet arrived. She was sure someone snapped her photograph. How did they recognise her? _I guess normal people don't wear sunnies and a beanie inside an airport at night_, she sighed. _Dammit_. She forgot to get Mandi to have a car waiting for her.

She stood outside with everybody else waiting for cabs, hoping she wouldn't be recognised. She kept having to shove escaping strands of blue hair back up underneath her beanie.

_Hiding in plain sight. Sherlock would be proud. _Finally there was a cab for her, and she settled back for the half hour journey to Baker Street.

_Sherlock._

_I'm going to kick your ass when I get in. And I'm pretty good with a single stick too._

The drizzle had almost turned into a downpour by the time the cab reached Baker Street. She paid the fare, and stepped out onto the pavement, looking up at their flat. There was a warm orange glow coming from the windows. A nice warm fire to snuggle up with Sherlock to.

Violet stood in the rain, fumbling for her keys and cursing. _Where the fuck are they?_ She finally found them and let herself in. The passageway was lit by the single lamp on the table near the stairs. That usually signalled that Mrs Hudson was out for the evening. Sherlock wasn't though. She could hear the faint sound of classical music playing upstairs. _At a normal volume, thank goodness. But still - when did Sherlock ever have that on usually?_

Violet shook out her wet coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door before ascending the stairs. Her anxiety increased with every step. This was the time when she would have to say out loud everything Jim had told her. Vocalising it to somebody else would make it all real. The whole scenario had been locked up inside her head for the last day and a half and she still wanted it to just be a bad dream.

_Stay calm and don't cry_, she said to herself. Sherlock will have a hundred questions that he'll fire at her one after the other, and there was one question she couldn't answer: Who was he?

Violet had to be prepared to not blurt out that it was Jim - Mister James Moriarty, Chief Operating Officer at Etienne-Lumiere Studios.

She reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath in. She opened the door and walked in.

_What._

_Oh my God._

_Who is she?_

_Sherlock, what are you doing?_

Violet couldn't speak, and then _she_ did.

"Cousin Violet," she said sweetly, from her position on the floor, kneeling in front of Sherlock as he sat in his armchair by the fire.

Violet recognised her immediately.

_Irene Adler._


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

"Oh, no, no no, Violet. We're not doing this," Sherlock said, striding into Mrs Hudson's sitting room where Violet had escaped.

"Don't touch me!"

Sherlock stopped suddenly. "Violet, you don't actually think-,"

"I'm not stupid! You think I'm such an idiot that I can't see what was going on?"

She was incredulous. _Seriously!_

"Yes you _are_ stupid _and_ an idiot if all you can observe is what you see."

"What the fuck does that mean? What I can see is that woman, that - _fucking_ - whore, about to give you head, in...in..."

"Violet."

"Oh God."

Violet sank down onto one many of Mrs Hudson's armchairs with her head in her hands. "This can't be happening." _The one person,_ she thought, _the one person who could make this insane world seem right again has fucking betrayed me with his dick in some slut's mouth._

Sherlock thought he'd better change his approach. Clearly yelling insults at her wasn't going to be an effective strategy to alter her false interpretation of his and Irene's conversation. He knelt down beside her.

"Violet," he said softly. "You know me. _Think! _I wouldn't be doing what you think you saw."

"You're acting just like any other pathetic male would when propositioned by a high class hooker!"

Sherlock was wounded. He stood up again. "But I'm not like any other male am I? I'm not your average, typical, red-blooded male and you know it. Don't insult me by categorising me like that."

"You were holding her hand."

"And that's what you think you saw."

"_You were holding her hand!_"

"I was taking her pulse."

"You were taking her _pulse_? Was she _dead_?!"

Out of frustration Sherlock began pacing, shoving one hand into his trouser pocket and rubbing the back of his hair with the other.

"This is what she does. She tries to get the upper hand. Throw people off balance. I was merely trying to prove a point."

"Prove a point?! Sherlock, what is she doing here? Why is she naked except for your dressing gown? She was on her knees! Why are you having a romantic evening together, in front of the fire, playing fucking Brahms-"

"-Strauss"

"Whatever! With your FUCKING TONGUE IN HER EAR!"

Sherlock froze. "I was about to whisper something to her," he said evenly.

Violet stood up suddenly and strode over to him. He could see it coming, but didn't have the inclination to stop it. He turned his head with the force of the blow.

She had slapped him. Hard.

"Get out!"

Sherlock stood his ground, although his face was stinging.

"Get out! I don't want to see you. GET OUT! FUCK OFF! GO AND BANG YOUR FUCKING SLUT-"

"Violet."

Sherlock was able to remain deadly calm considering the onslaught of abuse he was receiving. He took a step closer and reached for both of her hands. She was trembling with rage.

"Violet."

"Don't."

"Violet."

"Don't touch me."

But she didn't pull her hands out of his grasp. She was too tired. Exhausted. Twenty-four hours on a plane, the day before trying to assume the composure of a normal human being while living at a lunatic asylum it seemed, and now this.

She bowed her head and let him envelope her in his embrace. He was here. She could smell him, hear him, feel him.

"Sherlock, don't."

"Shhh."

He held her tightly, felt her stiffen beneath his grasp but gently rubbed her back anyway.

"It's not what you think," he whispered.

"No, you're lying," she said into his chest. _Everybody lies._

She pushed him away. Shoved him, in fact.

"Why is she naked except for your dressing gown?"

"Because I threw it at her."

"Threw your dressing gown at her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she was walking around naked and it irritated me."

Violet was trying to keep it together. "Walking around naked? Did she walk in off the street like that?"

"No."

"Why'd she take her clothes off then?"

"She's been staying here."

"Staying here?"

"Yes."

"As in living here?"

"Yes."

"Why the fuck..." Violet took a deep breath in, while clenching her fists. "Why is she living here? And why, for fuck's sake IS SHE NAKED!"

Sherlock took in the look of fury emanating from Violet. He took a step back. "Can I phone a friend?"

Violet was momentarily thrown. "What?"

"Can I phone a friend? It's from a TV show John and Mrs Hudson used to watch."

"What? Why do you want to phone a friend?"

"You phone a friend when you need help with your answers."

Violet was bewildered. "Why do you of all people need help answering questions?"

"Because I feel as if every answer will be met with an act of violence on your part."

Violet chose to ignore his request. She continued, "How long has she been here?"

"I'm phoning a friend, see?" Sherlock indicated his phone. "By the way, your hair looks very blue."

Violet glared at him. "Who are you calling?"

"John."

"Why John?"

"Because he was here...ah, John," he said talking into the phone. "Violet's here." Sherlock listened for a moment or two then replied, "Yes, almost. So I need you to come over to help..."

He rolled his eyes. He sighed and then said, "Thank you."

Sherlock listened once more to John and then added sullenly, "Yes. We'll do dinner then...no, I don't know how long." He looked up at Violet and asked, "How long are you staying for? John and Mary want to cook us dinner tomorrow night?"

He raised his eyebrows in expectation as Violet replied icily, "Now is not a good time."

"Could you just come over? Help me explain some...stuff," Sherlock said quickly into the phone. "Oh and John? Code red!"

He ended the call.

"What's 'code red'?"

"Ah, nothing. So...tea?"

"There's a prostitute upstairs."

Sherlock grinned broadly and braved an approach toward his volatile girlfriend. He even ventured so far as to reach out to her, drawing her in slowly and softly planting a kiss on her cheek.

By the time John arrived at Baker Street fifteen minutes later, Sherlock and Violet were making out on Mrs Hudson's sofa.

John cleared his throat. "So...ah, do you still need me?" he asked, looking uncomfortable as the pair disentangled themselves.

* * *

**Three weeks ago...**

John followed Sherlock to the front door of 221B.

"So he never actually resided there. He just sent texts and tweeted about it?" he asked.

"Precisely," replied Sherlock as he unlocked the door. "And even uploaded photos of the property to Instagram."

"Brilliant," John mused. "Must write that one up for the blog."

Sherlock turned to John at the bottom of the stairwell. "I thought I told you to take that down?"

John looked at Sherlock sheepishly. "I just removed public access. Mary still likes me to update it when I work on cases with you now and again. She said it's good for me. And she likes reading it."

"How can it be good for you?"

"It just is, Sherlock," John replied irritably. "I'm going to say hello to Mrs Hudson. I'll be up in a tick."

"What title are you going to give this one? _Fakebook Resident_?" Sherlock called down to him.

"_The Virtual Lodger_?" John called back.

Sherlock tutted and resumed his ascent as John made his way down the passageway to Mrs Hudson's kitchen at the back.

Sherlock reached the top of the landing, and then paused, sniffing the air.

_Perfume. Bolt of Lightning by JAR._

_Bit risky for a Wednesday morning. Definitely not Mrs Hudson's. And not at that price range._

He strode into the kitchen, feeling an abnormal draught of cool air flowing through the room. He narrowed his eyes as he spied the rear window unlatched.

Sherlock could still detect the musky cologne in this room, leading around the corner and down the passageway. His bedroom door was ajar. He approached the room just as John's footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs.

Sherlock was staring at his bed by the time John walked into the kitchen carrying a plate.

"Mrs Hudson made us some cupca-"

"We have a client."

"What? In your bedroom?" John said sarcastically and joined Sherlock in the doorway of the detective's room.

A woman was lying down on Sherlock's bed with her back to them. She appeared to be naked, except for the bed sheet loosely covering her. John's first impression was that this was Violet, and why would Sherlock be practically inviting John in to gaze at her naked body.

She stirred and rolled onto her back, blinking up at the two men staring down at her.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes," she said sleepily.

"Ms Adler, I presume," Sherlock stated.

"Ah..." stammered John. "I've missed something haven't I?"

"You may want to put the kettle on, John," Sherlock said, reaching behind his door and grabbing his dressing gown. He threw it at the bed and said to Irene Adler, "You should put that on. Boiled water can cause serious burns."

He turned and followed John out into the kitchen.

"What's going on? Who's that?" John asked.

"Irene Adler, John," Sherlock replied, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialling a number. "Are you putting the kettle on?"

"Okay. That explains her name," John continued while filling the kettle. "But not what she's doing in your bed." And then he added, with a gulp, "Naked."

"I'm in hiding," Irene replied, emerging from Sherlock's bedroom wearing his dressing gown and tying the sash around her.

Sherlock glanced at her and then began speaking into his phone. "Mycroft. I believe I have something you've been looking for. Best send one of your shiny black cars around for it."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone before strolling into his living room.

"Doctor Watson," Irene said to John, smiling at him.

"Ye-es?"

"Black with one, thanks."

John just gawked at her, before turning back to the tea things. Irene made her way over to Sherlock's armchair and made herself comfortable in it, tucking her legs underneath her.

"Did you enjoy your little trek around Europe?" she asked Sherlock, who was gazing out of the window onto the street.

"Trek?" he asked, turning his head toward her.

"The little goose chase I had you on. How were the rave parties? La Batofar has always been my favourite."

"Goose chase?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling slyly. "I just wanted to see you dance."

Sherlock turned his attention back to the street. "I don't dance to rave music," he muttered.

"Pity," she said, looking him up and down as John brought her a cup of tea.

John took a chair by the living room table, and sat down with a cup of coffee. "So," he began, taking out his notepad, and thinking that someone ought to be taking down the details of this case for their new client, as bizarre as her introduction was. "You're in hiding?"

"Yes," Irene replied, still staring at Sherlock.

"From?" John queried.

"I've been misbehaving all around Europe," she said, enigmatically and sipping her tea.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked her, casually strolling over from the window with his hands in his pockets.

"People who want to kill me?"

"Who's that?"

"Killers?"

"Would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John remarked.

"The point is, I have something the British Government would love to get its hands on."

"Which is what?" Sherlock asked, as he pulled out a chair opposite John and sat down.

"Information."

"About what?"

"A name."

"Who's name?"

"Now that would be telling."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Irene. He couldn't read her. She'd obviously used his shower before falling asleep in his bed, and now she was wearing his gown.

John cleared his throat to break the silence that arose from Sherlock glaring at Irene, and Irene smiling smugly back at him. "And what do you want from us?"

Irene turned her gaze toward John. "Protection," she said simply.

"Here comes your protection now," Sherlock stated as they heard the sound of the front doorbell ringing.

"I'll...ah...just get that," said John. He rose from his chair and hurried down the stairs.

"Why have you shown up here?" Sherlock asked.

"I heard that the great Sherlock Holmes was looking for me, so I thought I'd save you the trouble - after having a little fun with you in Europe first."

"Why didn't you meet with the Government's operative in Paris?"

"I heard that our meeting was compromised. I had to leave immediately."

Sherlock turned his head toward the doorway as John entered the living room followed by Myrcoft.

"Sherlock. Ms Adler," the elder Holmes said.

"Mr Holmes," Irene replied.

"She's all yours, Mycroft," Sherlock said, rising out of his chair. "Now if you'll just excuse me, I have some work to do."

Sherlock rebuttoned his jacket and made to leave the room.

"I know his name, Sherlock," Irene said.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "Who's name?"

"That will be all, Ms Adler. Now if you'll kindly get dressed I can take you to a safe house," said Mycroft.

"I have a list," Irene said, addressing Mycroft.

"Who's name?" Sherlock repeated.

"Sherlock, would you be a dear and pass your brother that envelope I placed on your table there?"

"Who's name?" he said again, ignoring her request.

"The man who..." she began, but Mycroft interrupted her.

"Ms Adler, that information is for the British Government only."

"I'm sorry, but I thought Sherlock worked for you?"

"My brother's brief was to find you and hand you over. He has completed that task. The information you hold is none of his concern."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "You were saying?" he said, redirecting his gaze to Irene.

Irene rose out of her chair and marched over to the living room table. She picked up an envelope that Sherlock hadn't noticed earlier and handed it to Mycroft.

"A list of my requests. And an idea about my protection."

Mycroft tore open the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper contained inside. He raised his eyebrows and then looked up at Sherlock.

"It looks as though the British Government will be requiring your assistance a little longer, Sherlock."

"Why?"

Irene replied for him, "I've requested that my safe house be here."

John snorted as Sherlock stated, "Out of the question."

Mycroft gave him a stern look. "Sherlock."

"Otherwise I won't give up _his name,_" Irene said, whispering the last two words for emphasis.

When Sherlock continuing looking at her with disdain, she asked Mycroft, "May I?"

"Oh, go ahead," Mycroft replied in a bored tone.

"The name of the man at the head of the organised crime network in Britain as well as abroad. That man. And not only his name. I have information that will link him to the organised crime networks in several countries, including bank account numbers. He's only just worked out I have this information, so I'm feeling a little bit exposed these days."

"Sebastian Moran's boss?" John asked, the penny dropping.

"Everyone's boss, Doctor Watson."

"It's still out of the question," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock, you do understand what's at stake here don't you?" Mycroft asked. "And it's hardly a huge request. The room upstairs is vacant now that Ms Hunter is filming in Australia."

Irene's face lit up. "And how is my little cousin Violet?"

"Cousin?" asked John.

"You're not even remotely related," said Sherlock.

"I'm sure Violet won't mind if her cousin stays, Sherlock?" John suggested innocently.

Sherlock slowly turned his attention to John. John still had no idea as to the nature of Irene Adler's occupation.

"It's all settled then," Mycroft said, folding up Irene's request. "So Ms Adler, according to this you'll contact us within the week in order to release information to us about a crime syndicate in Cologne?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. As a gesture of good faith. And if I still feel protected, I'll then release another snippet of information the following week about a network in Luxembourg."

"And finally, the rest of the information about the head of the largest criminal network in Europe - his identity and links to organised crime," Mycroft finished.

"And a new identity for myself and relocation to another country?" she asked.

"It will all be arranged. Sherlock?" Mycroft turned to his brother.

Sherlock was fuming. "You're to remain upstairs. I don't even want to see you," he said addressing Irene.

"Ms Adler. Sherlock," Mycroft said, hooking his umbrella over his arm and smiling at his brother. "John. Good day!"

Sherlock continued to glare at Irene, and she smiled sweetly at him.

"Cupcake, anyone?" John asked.

The next week was torturous for the Baker Street residents. Sherlock cleared out Violet's personal possessions from the room upstairs, storing them in his room. He had to explain, in a vague sense, Irene's presence to Mrs Hudson. Irene had added the misinformation that she was Violet's cousin. Sherlock had asked Mrs Hudson to collect some clothing from the Red Cross for Irene to wear, claiming she had to leave her place of residence urgently as it was unsafe. In a sense that was true. Irene refused to wear secondhand clothes, preferring to wander around naked most of the time. Sherlock chose to ignore her for the most part. He invited John around on several occasions to act as a sort of buffer between himself and Irene. John only ever managed to stay for half an hour at a time after finally piecing together what Irene used to do for a living.

"Oh you've read my blog?" he asked her one day when she stated that the Case of the Aluminium Crutch was her favourite.

"Oh, I like detective stories," she answered. "And detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

"So how did you know about the missing aunt? I didn't add that to my post?"

"Oh, I knew a superintendent once. Well, I know what he liked. He told me stories, although he was mostly tied up at the time."

"Tied up?" John repeated.

Irene whispered to him, "I misbehave!"

Irene said she 'didn't feel safe' if Sherlock had to attend cases outside, so Mycroft insisted that Sherlock only deal with email cases. He also provided Sherlock with paperwork to comb through, looking for cases of fraud on behalf of government agencies. Mycroft was trying to keep him on-side and was trying to stop him from becoming bored.

Whenever Sherlock tried to work on email cases, Irene insisted on reading them. She even boasted at having solved a couple on his behalf while he was hiding from her in his bedroom one morning.

Once John had phoned him, and Irene had walked past saying "Sherlock dear, can you zip me up?" So Sherlock took to not answering Violet's phone calls and only texting her or ringing her back later when he was alone.

As per her agreement, Irene released information about a criminal network in Cologne after a week of living in Baker Street. She accompanied Sherlock along with a number of British agents to the German city. There they were able to work with the Landeskriminalamt in bringing down an Italian crime syndicate responsible for the trade of cocaine in and around North Rhine-Westphalia.

"Let's dance," Irene suggested one evening while Sherlock was dissecting a left foot on the kitchen table. He had phoned Molly to drop one off on her way home that day, hoping to horrify Irene in the process. But she ignored his deceased body part as much as he was ignoring her naked ones.

"I don't dance with nude women," he replied, without looking up.

"Then I'll put on your dressing gown."

"I don't dance with ones people pay for either."

"Let's go out for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"It doesn't matter."

Such was the nature of most of Sherlock and Irene's conversations. He remained immune to her flirting and she insisted on turning every snippet of conversation into something sexual.

A week and a half later, they were again on their way to continental Europe, this time to Luxembourg to break up a human trafficking ring.

"How is Violet's little movie project going?" Irene asked on their return flight.

"It's not a little movie. It's a huge American - thing. Not that you would know anything about that, having failed as an actress."

Upon their return, Irene set about filling the washing machine in the basement with all of the clothes Mrs Hudson had brought her from the Red Cross. The machine flooded the basement and would only work thereafter by making a huge clanking sound. Mrs Hudson made Sherlock fix it - a stray brassiere was found to be the culprit.

On that particular rainy night, Irene once again attempted to entice Sherlock to dance, putting on one of his classical music CDs, a collection of waltzes by Johann Strauss, as he sat in his armchair sorting through fanmail.

She finally gave up and sat down in Violet's armchair opposite him.

"You don't seem the type to have a permanent relationship," she began.

"You know your types do you?"

"I know what men like."

"When you say 'men' you mean the type who pay for sex."

"Many men think they wouldn't pay for sex until they meet me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _She's highly delusional,_ he thought. _And obviously never received affection from her father._

"What is it about Violet Hunter that makes her so special?"

"That's none of your business."

"But your relationship is all over the press."

"I wouldn't know. I don't concern myself with idle gossip."

"She likes younger men doesn't she? She allows herself to be photographed with them."

Sherlock stopped his sorting for a moment and narrowed his eyes at Irene. _She's trying to get under my skin,_ he thought. _And the more she pries into our lives, the more she reveals about herself._

When Sherlock didn't reply, Irene continued, "Or perhaps that's because she only plays teenagers on television. Is that why you like her? Because she's a girl?"

"Is there something wrong with you?"

"Have you ever had a real woman?"

The question confused Sherlock in its bold assumption. "Sorry?"

"And when I say 'had' I'm being indelicate."

Sherlock was feeling even more irritated. Obviously Irene was jealous of Violet, her almost-cousin.

He said, "Why do you feel the need to flirt with me? Do you actually think that I'll find you attractive?"

"Do you feel threatened by me?"

"No more than a horse feels threatened by a fly."

"And you're the horse?" she asked, smirking. "Why are you being so impolite?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me, and stop flirting with me. I'm not interested."

"And you think I'm interested in you?"

"I know you're interested."

"How can you possibly deduce that? I'm a professional," she said seductively. And then she rose from her chair, and knelt down in front of him.

"Let's have dinner," she said, softly placing her hand on Sherlock's.

"Why?"

"You might be hungry."

"I'm not."

"Good."

Sherlock studied Irene's face. _Professional? We'll see about that._

"Why would I," he began slowly and leaning toward her. "...want to have dinner ...if I wasn't hungry?"

Sherlock studied her eyes. _Pupils - dilated,_ he thought smugly.

"Mr Holmes," she purred. "If you ever want a real woman," she began as Sherlock gently turned her hand over, the pad of one finger strategically placed on Irene's radial pulse. "My dear cousin need never know we've had dinner."

_Bingo! _thought Sherlock. _Heart rate - elevated. Highly unprofessional. _He was just about to point that out to her, when she redirected her gaze toward the living room door.

"Cousin Violet," she said sweetly.

* * *

Violet sat feeling numb as both Sherlock and John described the last three weeks in Baker Street to her. She hadn't really listened beyond the first mention of the words "The name of the man at the head of the organised crime network in Britain as well as abroad."

She knew it.

_Jim.  
James Moriarty._

She could just say it. Sherlock has been waiting and enduring that woman for three weeks to just say the name Violet knew oh so well.

_Jim Moriarty._

_So just say it._

Jim had been angry and now Violet knew what had been the trigger - what had made him end the little game he was having with her: Germany and Luxembourg - the fall of two of his crime syndicates. That's why he wanted Sherlock to back off. Sherlock, thanks to Irene Adler, was picking off his networks one by one.

"Violet?" Sherlock was saying, interrupting her thoughts.

"W-what?"

"Now do you understand why she has to stay?"

Violet looked between John and Sherlock. Now it was her turn and she didn't know where to start - how to start - without crying.

"Violet," said John softly. "If it makes you feel better perhaps I can stay sometimes. Maybe sleep on the couch?"

Sherlock looked at John in astonishment. "Really John?"

"That's if...if Violet is concerned."

Violet looked from one to the other. They were both looking at her expectantly. She didn't know why but she burst out laughing. John frowned, while Sherlock just smirked. Violet continued laughing, pausing to say, "I'm sorry, but this is just..." She stopped again to wipe away the tears which usually accompanied her hysterical laughter, but then she just held her hands to her face and exclaimed, "Oh God, this is not really happening."

"Violet?"

Sherlock was confused about Violet's sudden mood swings - on this occasion at least. Was she okay with this? Did she believe him?

He sat down on the sofa next to her and put an arm around her. "What is it?"

"He visited me," she blurted out.

"What? Who?"

"The man you're talking about. The man whose name Irene is keeping from you."

Sherlock slowly took his arm from around Violet and he sat up straighter. She watched his face. He was piecing that information together. Violet could sense it now - the coming avalanche of questions he was just about to engulf her with.

"He visited you? In Australia?"

"Yes."

Violet held her breath, but the next question came from John. "Did you know who he was?"

_Just deliver the message,_ thought Violet. _And don't answer any direct questions._

"He wanted me to give you a warning," she said evenly.

"But who is he? What's his name?" Sherlock said quite calmly.

"He said back off, or three of my friends will be killed."

"What?!" exclaimed John.

Sherlock gently placed his hands on Violet's shoulders and turned her so that she faced him. "His name," he said carefully. "Tell me who he is so I can end this."

Violet swallowed hard. Sherlock's cold, grey eyes were piercing hers. She had to remain calm.

"Stop what you're doing," Violet droned, "or my friends will die."

"Who's he threatening, Violet?" John asked as Sherlock's face hardened.

Violet's voice faltered as she recited their names.

"Jesus," John breathed out.

"Violet," Sherlock said, trying to control his mounting rage. "You and Irene Adler are the only ones who know his name. She's playing games and trying to string me along before revealing it. I don't expect the same thing from you."

"It's for your own safety and all ours, that I can't say..."

"He's controlling you!"

"Sherlock," warned John.

Sherlock stood up suddenly and began pacing. John looked back at Violet who was trying to maintain her composure. He rose from his seat, and sat down on the sofa next to her, placing his arm around her. "Violet, are you okay?" he asked softly. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked over at the pair. Violet shook her head.

"Does he live in Australia? Is he Australian?" he asked.

"Sherlock, just...just leave it," said John. To Violet he asked, "He wants Sherlock to stop what exactly?"

Violet looked up at Sherlock. He was staring at her intently. "It must be the networks you broke up in Germany and Luxembourg. He must think you're on to something."

"Oh!" Sherlock said to himself, his mind calculating. He began pacing again. "He must be directly tied to those crime syndicates to have reacted so violently."

"Sherlock," John warned him again. "Violet, how do you know he wasn't just making an idle threat?"

"He had video footage of each of them. And for Emily and Mandi he's planted his men in their lives."

"Oh...elegant," murmured Sherlock as he stopped pacing. He steepled his hands to his lips, a sly grin forming.

John looked up at him in exasperation. "Elegant?"

Violet stood up, ignoring the two men. "I'm going to make tea."

She made her way into Mrs Hudson's kitchen, leaving Sherlock and John in the sitting room.

"So, Sherlock," John began, standing up. "Why do you think he's doing this? Focussing on you and Violet? I mean, Interpol and other European state police break up organised crime syndicates all the time."

"I can't be the only one who gets bored."

John stared at Sherlock incredulously. "There are lives at stake here, Sherlock. Actual - _human_ - lives. Just...just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue to not make that mistake."

"And you think you're going to make Violet tell you his name?"

"Of course she will. She knows only I can stop him."

John shook his head. "No, she doesn't Sherlock. Did you look at her? Did you actually look? She's scared out of her mind that you don't care about her friends and you're not going to heed that man's warning. She's upset! Go to her!"

"She's not upset. She's making tea for God's sake."

"Sherlock. Go to her now. Tell her that you're going to drop this case."

Sherlock's face hardened and he narrowed his eyes at John. "I didn't say I _wouldn't_ drop it."

"You know you sounded more impressed by the man who threatened her, and less concerned for her wellbeing."

"Did I?"

"Yes. Go to her. Now!"

Sherlock breathed out, straightened his jacket and walked through to Mrs Hudson's kitchen. Violet was standing with her back to the door, her arms folded, watching the kettle. She turned slightly when she heard the sound of the door opening.

"Violet," Sherlock said, walking over to her.

Violet turned around to face him, leaning against the kitchen bench and fiddling with a teaspoon.

"Violet, I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching for her. "I'm sorry this happened to you and I wasn't there to stop it."

He pulled her in tightly and Violet buried her head in his chest. He continued talking to her in a soothing voice. "I won't let anything happen. I won't engage in any more activities for this case. I'll tell Mycroft to take Ms Adler away. He can deal with her."

All of Violet's tension left her body as she melted into Sherlock's embrace. "Just hold me," she whispered.

"I'm sorry I-," Sherlock began.

"Shh."

"I was lost in the mystery for a moment."

"I knew you'd come back to me eventually."

Sherlock felt guilty. Eventually? What if John hadn't been there to remind him to be a thoughtful boyfriend/human being? How long would Sherlock have taken to snap out of his case-absorbed thoughts? Sherlock's lips brushed the top of Violet's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

Violet clung to him tightly.

"I'll ring Mycroft now," he said, pulling away from Violet slightly. "And then I'll go upstairs and tell Ms Adler to pack her things."

"No, let me," Violet said, straightening up. "I want to do it."

"Violet, I'm not sure..."

There was a tentative knock at the kitchen door. John poked his head in. "Everything all right in here?"

Violet gave John a reassuring smile as Sherlock replied, "Yes John."

"Then I might take off?"

"Thanks, John," Violet said.

Sherlock gave a half smile to John, which John interpreted as "Thanks for saving my neck again!"

"Dinner tomorrow then?" John asked.

"Yes, John," Sherlock replied.

John grinned and then left them alone in the kitchen.

"Let's go," Sherlock said.

They abandoned the tea things in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, with Sherlock phoning Mycroft on their way upstairs. He gave Violet a reassuring squeeze of her hand and watched her ascend the stairs to her rooms, and Irene Adler.

Once Violet reached the top of the stairs she paused, her hand in the air, thinking twice about knocking. It was her room, she reasoned, and any woman who insists on parading naked before men she had no business being naked in front of cannot be one who demands privacy.

When Violet opened the door, she found Irene sitting on the small sofa typing on her phone. She was still wearing Sherlock's dressing gown.

"Little cousin Violet!" Irene remarked upon seeing Violet standing in the doorway. "I must say I love what you've done to your hair. Why, you almost look like a smurfette!"

"Smurfs have yellow hair. It's their skin that's blue," Violet stated impassively.

"Oh," Irene said standing up, "In any case you do look adorable. Here, let me have a hug!"

"You can stop pretending we're long lost cousins now. Sherlock isn't within earshot."

"But we are cousins!" Irene said, striding over to Violet. "I remember the day you were born. Well, almost. I was only two years old myself."

In spite of Violet's cold demeanour, Irene pulled her in for a hug anyway. Violet pushed her away.

"I'm sorry, I've come to ask you to pack your things. You're to leave as soon as Mycroft comes to collect you."

"Well, I'm sorry Violet. But I have an agreement with the British Government."

"Yes. And Sherlock is not part of the British Government."

"Are you sure you understand what's going on Violet? We grown-ups had this discussion while you were abroad playing mermaids with your little friends."

"The agreement is terminated. Sherlock couldn't care less about your boyfriend troubles."

"Boyfriend troubles? This is way more than that, Violet."

Violet thought she'd take a calculated guess. "Jim didn't have anything nice to say about you," she said. A half-truth. Jim Moriarty hadn't said anything about Irene Adler, good or bad.

Irene froze. Violet had hit jackpot. She continued, "You really should leave now, before he finds out you're here."

"You wouldn't."

"I'm such a silly little girl, I wouldn't know half the things I blurt out sometimes. So pack your things. Leave the dressing gown too please. And Sherlock still doesn't know about Jim, so keep that to yourself will you? The more Sherlock knows about Jim Moriarty, the closer Jim will look at him. And if Jim finds out it was you who gave Sherlock the information about Germany and Luxembourg, well, I'd hate to be in your..." She scanned Irene from top to toe. "...body."

Violet shut the door on Irene's stunned face, and smugly made her way back downstairs. Now if only she had showed that much coolness in the face of Jim Moriarty, half her misery could have been avoided.

She returned to the flat to find Sherlock pacing his living room in agitation while talking on the phone - to his brother it seemed. Sherlock was outlining the threats taken against Violet's friends to which, apparently, Mycroft was most unsympathetic. Casualties of war, he had said. Sherlock didn't dare repeat his brother's words to Violet.

Violet interrupted Sherlock's pacing by getting in his path and then slipping her arms into his jacket, hugging him close. Sherlock decided to end the call with Mycroft by saying, "Look, either she leaves here walking down the street or in your car. Your choice."

He shoved his phone into his jacket pocket and returned Violet's embrace, kissing her softly on her forehead.

"How did you go?" he asked.

"Good," Violet answered, resting her chin on Sherlock's chest as she gazed up at him. "She's out."

Sherlock entwined his fingers into Violet's azure locks and smirked. "You know, I think I really like this."

She smiled back at him. Sherlock bent his head lower, and teased a kiss from Violet's lips. She parted them, drawing him in, tasting and teasing him back with her tongue. Sherlock murmured his satisfaction, a heat surging through him. The kiss had rekindled the fire which had spread throughout his loins before their earlier session on the sofa had been abruptly interrupted by John.

But Violet pushed him away. "Not now," she said, smiling playfully. It was the first genuine smile Sherlock had seen on her face since she arrived back in London.

"Soon," he said, pulling her in for a hug once more.

Sherlock led Violet over to the grey couch and began kissing her again. She was helpless to resist, and soon they became a hopeless tangle of entwining limbs.

The doorbell rang and with one parting kiss, Sherlock dashed off downstairs to let the representative of the British Government in. At the same time, light, sharp taps of heeled footsteps echoed from the stairs above. Irene Adler, carrying a large handbag and a jacket slung over one arm came into view. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, her hair styled in an elegant twist, her make-up, perfect. _For a dominatrix for hire_, thought Violet.

"Lovely to see you, Irene. Here's hoping it'll be another twenty-five years before we meet again, dear cousin," Violet said sweetly as the woman passed by.

Sherlock and Mycroft were downstairs arguing in the entrance. Mycroft was still trying to convince Sherlock that there were higher priorities to consider, more so than the fate of three of Violet's friends.

"Ms Adler," Mycroft said as he spied Irene on the staircase.

Sherlock ignored Irene as he spoke to Mycroft. "If you're feeling kind give her a new identity in a foreign country. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

"Are you expecting me to beg?" she pleaded to Sherlock.

Sherlock brushed past her as he mounted the staircase. "Sorry about dinner," he muttered.

Violet had kicked off her shoes and pulled her hair out of its loose bun that she had so carelessly hid underneath a beanie during her flight earlier. She ran her fingers through it as she looked at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. She heard the sound of Sherlock's swift footsteps ascending the stairs.

She didn't have much time! Laughing to herself she almost sprinted the length of the kitchen to Sherlock's bedroom. Giggling she shed her shirt, silently swearing at the top button she failed to undo and now had to awkwardly release while the shirt was halfway off. She flung the traitoress shirt aside and fumbled at the fly on her jeans just as Sherlock strolled through his door.

"This is totally unacceptable," he tutted. "You had more than an ample amount of time."

Sherlock loomed over her, shedding his own jacket and his eyes drifted over her chest area. "Keep going," his voice rasped.

"Make me," Violet beckoned.

"I won last time. Now you truly have nowhere to go."

"I've just spent six weeks training in jujitsu, judo and thai boxing. I told you, you were going to be sorry."

His voice was low and menacing. "Show m- Ow!"

Violet had already stepped forward, kicked one of his legs out from under him, and while he was off balance twisted him around until he fell, with a crash, onto his back. Violet straddled him, leaning over him gleefully.

"Ow, something's broken!"

"What?" she asked in a panic.

"It's my heart," he replied sorrowfully.

Violet thumped him on his heart.

Sherlock pretended to sulk. "It was those photos. You spent far too much time at the beach with those ..." He waved his hand in the air.

"Sexy co-stars?" she teased. "Oh, I bet you liked seeing me in a bikini."

"I like seeing you in nothing. Which reminds me..."

Sherlock sat up and reached around, unclasping Violet's bra. His breath against the side of her neck sent delicious shivers throughout her body.

"I won this round. Admit it," she said, pulling her bra straps down.

"Mmm," Sherlock murmured through slitted eyes. He started nuzzling her neck.

"Say it!"

"You won.." He kissed her neck. "...this round," he finished with a low growl, pulling her hips closer to his.

Violet grasped Sherlock's shirt, undoing his buttons with nimble fingers as his kisses along her neck became more urgent and demanding. Violet shifted slightly so that she was pressed against Sherlock's growing erection.

"Are we going to stay on the floor?" she murmured, her hands tugging at Sherlock's shirt.

He tutted and shrugged off the shirt, pausing to undo the buttons at his cuffs.

Violet climbed off him and stood up.

"We could," he smirked, looking up at her.

"I can feel a nasty carpet burn coming on."

Violet swiftly removed her jeans as Sherlock stood up. Instead of removing his trousers, he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck once more.

"I've missed you," he whispered.

The low timbre of his voice plus his wandering hands ignited sparks of pleasure all along Violet's body. She called feel his hardness nudging against her.

"Why are you still so dressed?" she replied, breaking free of his grasp and turning to face him.

She unhooked his waistband, her hand poised on his fly when Sherlock cradled her face in his hands and kissed her again, distracting her from her task.

"How could I ever consider being without you?" he murmured in between kisses.

"W-what?" she asked, pulling away.

"Nothing," he said, leaning in once more.

Violet pushed lightly against his chest. "What do you mean 'consider'?"

"What?" he asked, not really wanting to continue this conversation. He backed her up toward the bed.

"Why were you considering being without me?"

"I wasn't," he replied, stepping back and using the lull in proceedings to ease his trousers off.

"But you said..."

"Shh, I was just talking. No more talking now."

He kissed her again, hoping to progress to something more horizontal when Violet pushed back once more.

"When did you consider it?"

"Violet! You're ruining the mood!"

Violet sat down onto the bed, then shifted over to the centre and lay down. "You already ruined it with your stupid words," she said sulkily. "Now come over here and fuck me, and I swear if you say anything remotely like leaving me I'm going to have sex with every crew member on set, including the key grip and the - _best - boy_."

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked slowly, the menacing edge returning to his voice. He climbed onto the bed toward Violet, his eyes taking on a dangerous hue. "You're going to regret you ever said that. I'm going to bring you to the edge and leave you there until you're begging for it."

What followed then was a blur of undergarments being torn off, warm bodies groped for and pressed together, an entanglement of limbs, and utterances of pleasure mixed with the occasional threat of bodily harm. And Sherlock kept his promise. His elegant fingers and his far superior tongue teased and tantalised a compliant Violet until she was teetering on said edge. He slowed down and worked his way back up to her, to study her face with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Oh no...no, no, Sherlock," she gasped. "Keep going, you...fucker!"

An evil chuckle escaped his lips and he entered her, having staved off his own carnal needs in order to torment his lover. He was able to bring her back to the precipice though; he knew her body so well. She was moaning for him, pulling him to his own blissful conclusion, just as she climaxed beneath him.

With a final shudder Sherlock collapsed on top of Violet. He nuzzled into her neck as she held him there, her fingers entwined in his hair.

"Asshole," she whispered.

He kissed her cheek. "You're welcome."

He rolled off her and they lay in relative silence for a few minutes, listening to each other's rapid breathing.

Finally Sherlock reached out, hooking his fingers into Violet's. "When are you due back in Australia?"

"Why? Are you looking forward to being without me again?" she replied.

"No. The opposite."

Violet thought for a minute. Sherlock had made that cruel world disappear for a while, and now he was dragging it back: the reality of the threat and the ache of parting once more.

"I'm not due on set for a week and a half, but I should get back soon. I don't want Mandi to spend so much time with...that guy."

Sherlock reflected on Violet's words and the situation she was now faced with. He had made a decision. "I'll come with you."

"Really?"

"Yes. If you'll have me.."

"Oh Sherlock!"

She rolled onto her side and deposited tiny kisses onto his cheek.

"Besides," he said thoughtfully, "There's only so much masturbating I can do while watching you _taking care of yourself _on my computer."

"But we only did that once!"

Sherlock smiled mischievously.

"Sherlock?"

"I may have recorded you."

"Sherlock!"


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

Violet couldn't sleep, and Sherlock had told her to not even attempt it. If she was going to cross time zones again, there was no point in trying to adjust her body clock for the two days she would be here in London.

She snuggled up next to his sleeping body anyway, content to be in his bed again and feel his warmth. She occasionally stole her hand over to lightly run her fingers through his curls. She read emails on her ipad, gave in to the temptation to google herself and read what she'd been up to in her absence. Had anyone noticed she was no longer in Australia?

Apparently not. They were still banging on about her cavorting with Joseph Irkhardt in the surf.

Violet placed her ipad on the bedside table and turned onto her side, pressing into Sherlock's back, and kissing him lightly between his shoulder blades. She stayed there, occasionally brushing her lips against his bare skin. She started running her fingers lightly along his side until he huffed and moved slightly.

"Get up and move around," he muttered.

With a sigh, Violet left him and made her way out into the living room. It was just after 3am. The fire was just glowing embers now, so Violet fed it a couple more logs and then sat huddled in her armchair until she could feel its warmth grow again.

She was quite content being back in Baker Street with Sherlock. It had been far too stressful being away from him for the last six weeks. How do other celebrity couples manage? Or any couple for that matter - those in the military or working for international companies. _I guess they don't all have pyschotic villains plotting to control the world and one partner determined to stop them._ Perhaps that was unique to her and Sherlock's world. Celebrity romances are hard enough to manage.

Violet spent the next couple of hours reading Sherlock's emails for entertainment. She then decided to read fan mail for both her and Sherlock and felt guilty that these people were not only being ignored, but their kind words (most of them) were being tossed disrespectfully onto the fire. They really ought to be sent a quick thanks as a bare minimum. That'll keep Mandi busy. Make her earn her pay.

_Oh Mandi!_

How could she get her friend away from Jim's ...what was he? Evil henchman? Violet giggled at the thought. What would he put on his resume? Set lighting and rigging electrician, for Etienne-Lumiere Studios; Evil Henchman, specialising in romantic entanglements for Jim Moriarty, Evil Genius.

_I think the next time I meet Jim Moriarty - and please let there _never_ be a next time - I'm really going to try to have a sense of humour about it. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Life must get so dull for him otherwise if the people he's threatening are always crying or cowering. Poor man._

_I wonder how much Alissen King, the Assistant Director, knows about him? Are they properly dating? Do they have sex? Does he like regular sex? What's he like to wake up next to in bed? Do criminal masterminds sleep? Do they wake up with ruffled hair? Does he leave the toilet seat up?_

_My God!_ thought Violet.

_The Everyday Life of a Criminal Mastermind._

She was going to write it! Oh, this was wonderful. It will be like An Interview with a Bloodsucking Supernatural, only more Earth-bound.

She had his number. She could just ring him. _Hi Jim! Sherlock's agreed to back off. Happy days! Now I have a fabulous idea for a movie. Forget the Stacia Jecks novel..._

Violet sighed again and brought her knees up, hugging them. _I'm going mad. Must be PTSD._

She rose from her chair and checked the time on the microwave. 5:10am.

_Too dark to jog to the gym,_ she thought. So she phoned for a cab and then swiftly and silently went back to Sherlock's room to sift through the boxes of her clothes he'd brought down from her room in order to prevent Irene Adler wearing them.

She waited downstairs for the cab and then spent over two hours working out at the gym.

When she returned, Sherlock was sitting in his armchair reading the paper and drinking a cup of tea, still in pyjamas.

"Oh! I forgot you were here!" he exclaimed as she strolled in.

Not having jogged to the gym, Violet had taken her gym bag and had showered and changed there. This was convenient, because she could then rip the paper from Sherlock's hands and climb into his lap, unhindered by sweaty gym clothes and body odour.

"You're a terrible liar," she said, stealing a kiss.

"I'm a perfectly accomplished liar," he replied, holding her to a more deep and lustful kiss. "I thought you'd wake me up."

"I had to do a full workout."

"My God, look at the definition in your arms!" he remarked, running his fingers over Violet's biceps.

She smirked. "Let's have an arm wrestle!"

"No, let's do some other kind of wrestling."

"I can't go to sleep yet," Violet replied, climbing off Sherlock.

"Who said anything about sleep?"

"It's those orgasmy relaxing hormones you keep talking about."

"Orgasmy relaxing hormones?"

Violet laughed.

"Ah, yes doctor," Sherlock continued, rising from his armchair, "the ones released by the grey mushy thing inside my head."

"Breakfast?" Violet called ignoring him and heading into the kitchen.

"Oh, breakfast," Sherlock breathed. "Breakfast's dull."

"I'm assuming there's no food in here?" she asked, opening and closing the cabinet doors.

"No. I was trying to starve Irene Adler out of here. That and disgust her with my body part experiments from the morgue. Unfortunately nothing worked. She only has a one track mind which doesn't allow for daily sustenance and physiology. Well, not physiology of the clinical kind anyway. More the abuse of, in a sexual context, and the more submissive the..."

He stopped abruptly when he caught the look on Violet's face. She was standing near the fridge, her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

"Are you quite finished?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm going to see if Mrs Hudson has any cereal. Do you want anything?"

"No. I'm just having another cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"I'll have one downstairs," she called back from the stairwell.

Sherlock tutted. He turned back to prepare his tea, impatiently tapping the counter while waiting for the kettle to boil.

_So. Sydney.  
Australia.  
God.  
Dull._

He sighed.

_Criminal mastermind._

_Who is he? Why was he in Australia? How did he approach Violet? Where did he approach Violet?_

_Nightclub? Movie set? Beach?_

_He planted men in Emily's and Mandi's lives. That would assume some preparation time then._

_It was after Luxembourg that he approached Violet. Was she all alone? Was she frightened?_

_Oh God Violet._

_Would she have spat on him as she did to Sebastian Moran? Swear at him?_

_She could hold her own,_ Sherlock thought.

The kettle clicked off and Sherlock filled his mug with water. He dunked the tea bag a couple of times, then fetched milk from the fridge.

_Should I get Dan to check on Emily for Violet? He did say to call him any time for any kind of favour after I helped him identify the two embezzlers. This constitutes a favour. Unless he was just referring to smashing somebody's kneecaps in._

Sherlock splashed milk into his tea, discarded the teabag and took a sip.

"Oh God!"

He examined the teabag label and, horrified with what he read, he checked the contents of the tea canister.

_Somebody_ had switched all of the English breakfast teabags with rosehip teabags. Fuming, Sherlock poured his remaining tea into the sink.

_I'll have tea downstairs,_ he thought.

He made his way downstairs and along the passageway to Mrs Hudson's kitchen. He could hear them laughing inside. Violet was sitting at the table, her back to the wall eating fruit loops with Mrs Hudson sitting across from her.

"Good morning, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said.

"Morning Mrs Hudson. Ah, I see you've purchased more fruit loops. Good."

"They're not for you. I've hidden them," she said, sternly. "We were just talking about _that woman._ I'm glad you've finally gotten rid of her. I don't understand your brother sometimes. Fancy insisting his little brother share accommodation with a...a...what did you call her Violet?"

"Dominatrix."

"Oh! Shame on him. And at my time of life! What are you doing, young man?" she asked, realising that Sherlock was searching through her cupboards.

"I thought you weren't going to have breakfast?" Violet chimed in.

"Seeing you eat them has made me hungry."

"Here, finish mine. I shouldn't eat them anyway. Diet, Mrs Hudson," Violet explained to the landlady.

Sherlock looked into her bowl and scowled. "You've left them to go all soggy."

"Well I'm off to the shops. Do you need anything?" Mrs Hudson asked, rising out of her chair.

"Sherlock's coming back with me to Sydney, Mrs Hudson."

"Oh dear! That's so far away isn't it? You know not to go backpacking, don't you Sherlock!"

"Sherlock, backpacking?" Violet laughed.

Sherlock took Mrs Hudson's seat and casually began eating Violet's breakfast. He said through a mouth full of fruit loops, "You know the percentage of English backpackers who are kidnapped, shot and killed in the outback is-"

"Don't speak with your mouth full, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson reprimanded him.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow night, Mrs Hudson, so no, we don't need anything, thank you," Violet answered her.

"Well, Sherlock make sure you clean out your fridge before you go. I don't want any nasty surprises left for me. And _that woman _complained to me that you left a severed thumb in the corner of the sitting room upstairs. She wasn't very impressed."

"Oh good," remarked Sherlock, pleased that one of his efforts met with success.

"Rats?" Violet asked, smirking.

"Yes. The population always increases when the rooms are seldom occupied."

"I'll get some rat poison when I'm out," the landlady said as she opened the door. "Don't forget to clean up after yourselves. I'm not your housekeeper." She shut the door behind her and left them alone in her kitchen.

"Could you get me a tea please? Mrs Hudson didn't finish making it. The kettle's boiled," Violet said, pulling her cereal bowl back.

Sherlock stood up and strode over to the far wall. "All right. Where has she hidden it?"

"Far left. Behind the flour."

Sherlock retrieved the box of fruit loops from the back of the cupboard.

"So if you put Irene out of her misery and fucked her, would she have given you an invoice?"

"Sorry what?"

"You heard me," Violet said, taking one last mouthful of the sugary cereal.

"You never cease to amaze me, Violet."

"I do my best."

"But your hypothesis must be based on the assumption that Ms Adler conducts her business in a traditional manner. Does she generate invoices for services rendered? If I fuck her, is that a service she offers? I don't think so. Her website states that she provides recreational scolding. She would have to beat me first."

"But that's my job," Violet said slyly.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing, the teaspoon hovering over a teacup.

"You do, don't you?" he said through narrow eyes.

"What do you think she's doing now? Walking around the manor house naked?"

"What manor house?"

"Mycroft's."

"You think Mycroft lives in a manor house?"

"Doesn't he?"

"He'd live in the Diogenes Club if they'd allow it."

"Does he have a wife? A girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"He's the British Government. The British Government doesn't _date_."

Violet laughed at this.

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't _date_," she said softly, to herself.

"I heard that," Sherlock remarked walking over to the table carrying two cups of tea and a bowl of cereal. "That's all your fault. Sneaking your way into my bed and my...heart."

Violet stood up and leant over the table. She grasped Sherlock's pyjama shirt and pulled him toward her for a kiss. "You're welcome," she whispered.

She sat back down again as he grinned at her.

"I love you, Sherlock."

"I know," he replied, taking a sip of his tea.

Violet propped her elbow up onto the table and rested her chin on her hand, watching Sherlock munch on the fruit loops.

"More fruit loops?" he asked, pushing his bowl over to her.

"No thank you,' she said softly, still watching him in adoration.

She noticed him carefully selecting all of the orange ones with his spoon before taking a mouthful.

"What are you doing?"

"It's an experiment. I used to do this as a child."

"What's the experiment?"

Violet's heart leapt anytime Sherlock mentioned something from his childhood. She didn't know why, but she sometimes got the impression that his childhood wasn't a happy one. Nor a regular one.

"You can alter the taste of one flavour by overdosing on another."

"What?"

"Try it," he said, holding out the spoon to her.

"No, I don't want anymore."

"Just have a taste, Violet."

"No. Don't waste them on me. It's your thing. You enjoy it," she said smiling.

She rose out of her seat, taking her empty bowl with her, pausing to give Sherlock a peck on the cheek for being so damn cute as a child.

Violet slowly washed her bowl and spoon in the soap suds Mrs Hudson had left in the sink. Sherlock stood up as he finished and brought his bowl and spoon over.

"How did the experiment work out for you?"

"Your taste buds change as you get older," he said, placing his dish in the sink.

"Different result then?"

"Inconclusive. I may have to go through a whole box in order to properly test it."

Violet smiled at this. Sherlock took over from Violet washing his bowl as he stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder and pressing up against her.

"I love you, too," he murmured in her ear.

He moved back a little, allowing Violet to turn around and wrap her arms around his neck.

"I'm glad you're coming back to Australia with me," she whispered.

"I don't want you to have to go back there all alone."

"You're worried he'll speak to me again."

"Of course."

"I don't think he'll bother me any more."

"I'm sorry he approached you in the first place. The man's obviously a coward. This is the second time he hasn't threatened me personally. Why is that, do you think?"

"He likes to play games?"

"Is that what he said?"

"Not specifically."

"You need to tell me what he said exactly. Every word."

"No, I don't Sherlock. He had a message to give you, that I delivered. You understand it perfectly. There's no more to be said. Let's take our tea back upstairs. I have to find out what Mandi's up to."

Violet slipped her hands from around Sherlock and pushed past him back to the table.

"I'll see you up there," she said, taking her tea cup with her and exiting the kitchen.

Sherlock turned back to empty the sink, his thoughts analysing every word Violet had spoken about the man. _Nothing, dammit. Not a clue. She's good,_ he thought. _She clams up exactly when she needs to._

He wiped his hands on a tea towel, grabbed his tea and made his way back upstairs. Violet was talking to Mandi on her phone, so he headed over to his laptop and began checking his emails for the day.

When Violet finished her phonecall she asked him, "Have you done any banking while I was away?"

"Nope."

"We can do that this morning then. We can have lunch out then come back home so I can have a sleep before dinner at the Watson's."

"The Watson's?"

"Just thought I'd say it. It sounds lovely."

"I don't think Mary changed her name."

"I..." She stopped herself. She was going to say "I would." _Change her name,_ that is.

Violet Holmes. It had a nice ring to it.

"I know," she finished, correcting herself. "I'm going to start taking my clothes back upstairs, and then I'll get changed."

Violet walked over to where Sherlock sat and kissed him on the top of his head. She then went to his room, grabbed one box and carried it upstairs. She'd just finished putting everything back into her closet when Sherlock came in carrying the other box.

"We probably should wash the sheets and...fumigate," he said, looking around.

"I'm sure I'm not going to die from dominatrixia. Speaking of fumigating though, she did leave you your best dressing gown."

Sherlock looked at his blue robe which lay on Violet's bed.

"Oh."

"Wash it?"

"Toss it," he said. "Oh, are we walking to the local branch or do you want to go somewhere else?"

"There's a nice cafe in the Strand I want to try, so why don't we go to that branch?"

"I'll book a cab. There's a couple of photographers outside. They must know you're back. I haven't seen any in over a month."

"They have contacts at the airport, and also the gym. I'm not surprised they know I'm back."

Sherlock left Violet to change into something she could be photographed wearing in public. Upon her return, she was surprised to see Sherlock already dressed and pulling on his coat.

"Ready?" he said.

The paparazzi clicked away from their location across the street with their long lenses as Violet and Sherlock climbed into the cab. Violet didn't wave to them. She was disappointed that Billy wasn't among them. _I should text him our lunch venue,_ she thought. _Would be nice to have photos of me and my actual boyfriend enjoying ourselves in the press sometimes._

During the taxi ride Violet sent a message to Billy saying they'd be having an early lunch at Gareth's Bar and Cafe, and would be walking from Barclay's bank on the Strand. Billy sent back a text that he was following Chenoa Burton around. She had gone into a beauty salon. He also wrote, _Welcome back! Didn't know you were back in the country. See you at lunch. Thanks! I owe you, again!_

_Billy's obviously not in the loop,_ Violet thought. She wondered if Chenoa was being friendly to him since they had met when Violet had tipped Billy off about her and her former co-stars night on the town that time.

Sherlock reached over and held Violet's hand.

"This is nice, isn't it?" he commented.

"It is. I think we started taking each other for granted when we were together all the time."

"I never take you for granted!"

"Do you actually know what that means?"

"Your hair's slipping out," he observed, pointing to her head.

Violet tucked the stray strand back into her beanie.

"Forget I said it," Violet said, shaking her head.

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve it.

"Mycroft," he muttered.

"What did he say?"

Sherlock frowned. "Irene Adler has taken off again. They've lost her."

"Is she all right?"

"Dunno. She must know what she's doing. She evaded _me_ for a month."

Violet looked out of the window. She almost felt sorry for the woman: always on the run; looking over her shoulder. And on the run from Jim Moriarty. That had to be something. Violet and Irene should ideally be on the same side.

"Just here, thanks Cabbie," Sherlock said as they neared the bank.

"Still renovating," Violet murmured, as the heavily scaffolded building came into view.

Sherlock paid the fare and they alighted from the taxi. Once inside the bank Sherlock took a number and handed it to Violet.

"You're my personal assistant," he said as they sat down and waited for their number to be called. "Here's the cheques. Let this be an offical warning. You haven't shown up to work again for six weeks. Any more skiving off and I'm going to have to discipline you."

"Again, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock grabbed her hand and squeezed it, smiling mischievously. Violet leant in and brushed his lips with hers. She took a deep breath in and murmured, "Oh my God! Your aftershave on your actual body is going to make me..."

"Don't say it," Sherlock warned. "You're up," he said, glancing up at the display.

As Sherlock waited for Violet, he sent a text to Dan Corlionne, asking him to check on Emily. He received a prompt "Will do," message back. _All sorted,_ Sherlock thought.

"Lunch?" Violet asked as she finished with the teller. "Your treat. You're rich again!"

"Where are we headed?" Sherlock asked as he took Violet's hand in his.

"Gareth's. It's toward the church."

"Are you sure you want to walk?"

"It's not far. And it's not raining for once."

"I'm not talking about the distance. Look," Sherlock nodded to a photographer who had dismounted his bike some distance ahead and was already focussing his lens on them.

"Oh, he's okay. I know him."

"You know him?"

"Yes. That's Billy. He's nice. He's usually outside our flat. The other guys are complete dickheads toward him, so I don't mind smiling for his photos."

"The paparazzi have names?" Sherlock quipped.

"He's fine. This is helping him earn pocket money."

Sherlock scowled.

"Don't frown. You'll ruin his photo, or make it look like we're arguing."

Sherlock gave Violet a fake smile which she couldn't help but laugh at.

"Do you not notice people staring at us? There's actually a group of girls on the other side of the street - don't look! - following us."

"I don't notice anyone else when I'm with you."

Sherlock stopped walking and turned to Violet.

"How is that even possible?"

"Sherlock, I'm being romantic!"

"Oh, is that what it was," he said as they continued walking once again. "I thought you may have been suffering from tunnel vision."

"This is it," Violet indicated as they reached the cafe.

They entered amid stares and whispers which made Sherlock tense and frown. The cafe was only at half capacity as it was too early for the lunchtime crowd.

"Upstairs?" Violet asked Sherlock as the maitre d' gave them the option.

Sherlock shrugged.

"It's slightly more private," Violet added.

"That's a yes then," Sherlock replied.

"You are going to eat aren't you?" Violet asked once they were handed their menus and told the specials.

"I'll order something."

They read their menus in silence until Sherlock put his down and started looking about the cafe.

"Four married couples," he began while scanning, "One affair, two first dates, two dating couples, three friends and one business lunch. Would you like to know who's going to break up with whom?"

"I might have the chicken and pear salad," Violet said, looking up from her menu. "What are you having?"

"One girlfriend who doesn't appreciate my talents."

"Oh Sherlock," she said, gently placing her hand on top of his. "Of course I appreciate your talents. I just don't know what I'm going to do with that information."

"It was for fun. I was entertaining you."

"Kiss?" Violet asked, smiling.

Sherlock leant over and planted a kiss on Violet's lips. She looked around the room and picked a random couple.

"Sweater guy and brunette with umbrella."

"Nope. Siblings."

"There were no siblings on your list."

"So you _were_ listening."

"Of course I was."

"They're having a business meeting."

Violet looked back at them. Yes they were. He was staring intently at a piece of paper in front of him and she was impatiently tapping the table with a pen.

"Now if only you could use your talents for saving the world."

"I do use my talents for saving the world. When I'm allowed to."

"I mean something like finding a cure for cancer."

"That's not the only way to save the world," he muttered, picking up his menu again.

A waitress approached them, with a PDA in her hand.

"Are we ready to order?" she asked, stylus poised to take their order.

"Do we look ready?" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock."

"No, I want to know what physical evidence she used in order to determine that we were ready to order. Menus down, impatiently looking around for waitstaff?"

"I'll just come back when you're ready," the waitress said quietly before hurrying away.

"Sherlock! Our menus _were_ down and we were looking around the cafe."

"We weren't looking for the waitstaff."

"Why do you have to be rude?"

Sherlock pouted and picked up his menu again. "I don't like eating out. Everybody stares. I don't see the enjoyment in that."

"Can you just pretend no else exists in the world? Otherwise we'll never leave home together."

"That's fine with me."

Violet leant back in her chair. "I like to go out and experience the world. With you."

"And I like to stay in and have you all to myself," he said truthfully, venturing to meet Violet's gaze.

"And so we have to compromise, remember? Do what each other likes and try not to make the other feel guilty about it."

"And what do you do for me that makes you feel uncomfortable?"

"Say no a lot."

"Say no a lot to what?"

"Invitations to dinners and events."

"What dinners and events?"

"Theatre opening nights, play readings, charity dinners, fashion shows, celebrity walkathons, couples' dinners for couples other than John and Mary, dinner at my dad's, art shows, sporting events, wine tastings..."

"You never asked me," Sherlock said quietly.

"Most of the invitations come through my agent. They're either for Violet Hunter and Guest or Violet Hunter and Sherlock Holmes. I'm usually too tired to have the argument with you so I don't bother to ask. I just decline the invitation."

Sherlock regarded Violet for a moment. She looked down and pretended to study her menu again, but Sherlock could see that she was struggling to keep from crying. He felt like a prick. Again.

"Thank you," he said quietly. He reached for her hand and caressed the back of it with his thumb. "For making that sacrifice for me. I had no idea."

Violet replied, still looking down, "Whether you like it or not, my life is being played out before the public, giving a false impression of what I'm like and who I'm with. And while that doesn't bother you, it really hurts me that no one gets to see ... " She paused, composing herself. "...the wonderful person I'm in love with," she finished quietly.

"Violet, I'm sorry," Sherlock said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Come here," he whispered, reaching up and cradling her face in his palm. He leant closer and kissed her tenderly on her cheek first, and then her lips, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "I'm sorry."

"Please try," she asked him while he still held her face. Violet brought her hand up to hold his there.

"I will. I promise."

They kissed again, with Sherlock trying to tune out the whispering which rose and fell about them.

"Shall I choose something for you?" Violet asked as they broke apart. "Then I can have a taste for next time."

"There's never a next time," Sherlock said. "You're always dieting."

"You never know," Violet joked. "I may get a part as the She-hulk. I'll need to bulk up for that."

Sherlock smiled weakly at her. "I don't know who that is."

"Don't worry," Violet replied playfully. "Just don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry."

"I do make you angry."

Violet smiled. "It's a line from a TV show."

"Oh."

"About the Hulk."

"I still don't know who that is."

"Did you watch TV as a child?"

"We had two sets. My father watched the news or documentaries sometimes. He mostly yelled at them."

"Did you get to watch DVDs? Or, what did they have in the olden days when you were a child? Videos?"

Sherlock smirked. "I watched movies about pirates."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said, looking down at his menu again, clearly embarrassed. "Fish or chicken?"

"What? Oh. Pasta?"

"Whatever you want."

But Violet wanted to hear more about his childhood. And pirate movies. She wouldn't push him though. There was plenty of time for that.

"Panzerotti porcini pasta," she said.

"Fine," he said closing his menu. "Wine?"

"Sure, why not. It'll help me sleep."

"I know what else will help you sleep," he grinned broadly and looked around for the waitstaff.

Another waitress took their order and Sherlock ordered two glasses of chardonnay.

While they waited for their food, Violet explained the significance of anger to the Hulk's persona while Sherlock pointed out the similarities between Violet and this Hulk creature. Apart from the green hue, he could see no difference at all.

Sherlock ordered two more glasses of wine during lunch. He only managed three mouthfuls of pasta which was only one more than Violet had stolen from his plate.

"I'll workout for three hours tomorrow," she said guiltily.

"An extra hour for two spoons of pasta? Seems a bit excessive. Why don't we just stay in bed and have sex instead? Surely that constitutes a workout."

"My body clock is all over the place," she replied, yawning. "Can we skip dessert?"

"I'm not interested in dessert."

"Oh. I thought we could pick up Ben and Jerry's on the way home."

"But I'm sure I could be persuaded," Sherlock added quickly as they rose from their seats.

"This was a late dinner for me. I hope John and Mary won't get offended if I don't eat much at dinner. My body will be wanting breakfast."

"I'm sure they won't mind. John said he's cooking. It must be a huge can of baked beans then."

"Oh, that's mean!"

Sherlock held out Violet's jacket for her before donning his own. As they made their way down to the cashier, the maitre d' hurried over.

"Oh, Ms Hunter. Gareth has personally requested that your lunch be provided on the house today."

"Oh. Really?"

Sherlock eyed the man suspiciously. "In return for her photo on the VIP wall?"

The maitre d' smiled sheepishly. "We would invite you to do that. Of course you may always decline."

"Oh come on, Sherlock. That will be nice!" Violet prompted him, encouragingly.

Sherlock gave in, this time.

They stood near the _Gareth's Cafe and Bar _sign along one wall, with Sherlock smiling ever so faintly.

"Thank you Ms Hunter, Mr Holmes," the maitre d' gushed.

Violet thanked him and they left.

Billy was across the street, leaning against a shop front when they came out. He took a couple more photos before Violet waved him over.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Just giving him an exclusive," she replied. "Hi Billy. This is Sherlock."

"Hello, sir," Billy said, extending his hand.

Sherlock reluctantly shook it.

"Just a quick photo before anyone sees," Violet said, pulling her beanie from her head.

"Wow!" exclaimed Billy. "Is that for _Rise of the Five_?"

"Yes it is. So quick! Take the shot."

Violet stood next to Sherlock. He put his arm around her again, smiling just enough to not earn the ire of Mandi.

"Thanks Billy," Violet said, replacing her beanie.

"Cheers, Violet. Thanks again!"

Sherlock grabbed Violet's hand as they walked a few metres along the street.

"Let's grab a cab here," he suggested. "You're starting to stop traffic."

Sherlock hailed a taxi and they headed back toward Baker Street, stopping once to pick up a carton of Ben and Jerry's. Violet yawned three times during the journey and Sherlock put his arm around her while she closed her eyes briefly.

"We're home," he said, kissing her forehead, as the taxi pulled up outside 221 ten minutes later.

Violet was surprised that she had momentarily fallen asleep.

"Straight to bed with you," Sherlock murmured as she leant against him while he was unlocking the door.

Violet stumbled upstairs and into the bedroom, having barely enough energy to undress. Sherlock joined her after depositing the icecream in the freezer. He also started undressing.

"What are you doing?" Violet asked.

"I'm joining you. I have to start adjusting my body clock too, although I should've started two days ago."

"Mmm. Is that what you call it?" Violet said in some amusement as she caught sight of Sherlock's growing erection.

She climbed into bed, Sherlock slipping in beside her. They lay facing each other.

"We don't have to do anything until you're awake again," he whispered, pressing up against her.

"Hmm," she breathed out, closing her eyes.

She could feel Sherlock's hardness against her thigh, but her mind was clouding over with the thick veil of sleep.

"Good night, Violet," Sherlock whispered. He kissed her lightly on the lips. She replied with another "Mmm" then turned to her other side.

Sherlock wrapped one arm around her and nuzzled into her neck from behind. She was fast asleep. Sherlock held her for a while but was unable to sleep himself. He may have drifted off eventually, but awoke soon after.

He left Violet, grabbed his second best dressing gown, and headed back out into the living room. Sherlock phoned Lestrade, returning the D.I's call from a couple of days ago. The Scotland Yard detective was not amused that Sherlock had largely been unavailable for three weeks. He wanted Sherlock to attend a crime scene from the week before, but the case had been solved in the last few days. Sherlock informed Lestrade that he would be in Australia for the next couple of weeks anyway. Next Sherlock sent his big brother a text, also telling him he'd be in Australia. And lastly, he cleaned out the fridge for Mrs Hudson. He eyed the bin full of body parts and concluded he really ought to get dressed and take them back to St. Bart's where they could be properly incinerated. Probably not a good look if stray cats got into Mrs Hudson's bins and dragged left feet and a collection of thumbs all over Westminster.

Sherlock dressed quietly, grabbed a cardboard box, and placed the bin bag into it. He caught a cab to St. Bart's, found Molly, and left her with the parcel. He even gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her he was off to get some sun in Australia. She thought he'd gone mad.

It was just after 4pm once he'd arrived back in Baker Street, and far too early to wake Violet. He spent the next couple of hours researching violent crimes in Australia, specifically Sydney. Once satisfied that there was an interesting assortment of homicides in Australia, he put his computer aside and went to wake Violet.

Sherlock disrobed and slipped into bed beside her. He hugged her once more from behind and kissed the nape of her neck.

"Violet," he whispered.

"Mmm," came the sleepy response.

"Time to wake up. It's almost six."

"Just a couple more hours," she murmured.

"No. John and Mary wanted us to be there at seven. Come on."

"Not yet."

Her eyes were still shut tight, so Sherlock began with light kisses over her neck and shoulder and gentle caresses with his hand. Soon enough, Violet was both awake and aroused, responding enthusiastically to Sherlock's handiwork, much to his delight.

"You know I like being woken up like that," she murmured once they had both finished.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

"I rolled over to snuggle into you, but you were gone."

"Sorry, I had Mr Swanson's left foot to return to the morgue."

"Oh. Poor Mr Swanson."

"Come on. Get up and have a shower. We have to stop for wine on the way."

Sherlock rose from the bed, and wrapped his dressing gown around him.

"Why didn't we have to make anything for tonight?" Violet asked, as she climbed out of bed and put her pyjamas back on.

"I think John felt sorry for me after the salad incident last time."

"Oh, he looks out for you too much. How else are you going to learn?"

"After the slap in the face last night, I think I deserve a night off from your abusive language, don't you?"

"Oh, Sherlock! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry about that!"

Violet swiftly moved over to Sherlock and wrapped her arms around him.

"I promise never to slap you again."

"Don't promise what you can't deliver."

"Why would I slap you again? You wouldn't do anything that deserves a slap would you?"

"I didn't think I deserved it in the first place."

"No, you didn't," she said kissing him on the cheek. "I'm really sorry. I love you!"

"Don't try to crawl back now," he said, unwrapping her arms. "Go on. Have a shower upstairs. I'm using this one."

They both showered and dressed and were ready by twenty to seven. Sherlock had already booked a cab. They stopped for two bottles of wine: a Cabernet Sauvignon and a Chardonnay.

Mary greeted them at the door, a worried look on her face.

"John is completely out of his depth, but try to not notice," she whispered conspiratorially.

Sherlock grinned mischievously until Violet whacked him in the stomach.

"No violence, remember!" he whispered.

After a quick hello to John, Mary and Violet sat in the living room and started on the wine. Sherlock said he'd just give John a hand. The girls heard a loud, "Nope! Got it!" from John although Sherlock didn't emerge from the kitchen, so they guessed he stubbornly wormed his way into assisting John whether he wanted it or not.

The girls chatted about the movie, or more specifically Violet's co-stars. Mary had a soft spot for Timothy Killaney, the British actor, after seeing him in a production of Macbeth.

"And what will you be doing once you're back in London?" Mary asked.

"I have a series of audiobooks to record, and quite a few photoshoots and interviews booked in already. Otherwise nothing until the New Year. Lots of time to spend with Sherlock."

"He'll love that. He's been stealing John from me quite a bit."

"Speaking of you and John," Violet said with a smile.

"Yes, I know. Everybody's asking."

"So?"

"John wants to start his own practice first. So, maybe in a year or two?"

"Are you feeling very clucky?" Violet whispered.

"Don't tell John. Just a tiny bit. He said he'd buy me a puppy for Christmas."

"Oh, no!"

"But what about you and Sherlock?"

"Oh, God no. We don't even talk about next week, let alone..." Violet paused and smiled wanly at Mary. "Well, you know Sherlock."

"Are you looking forward to spending Christmas with him?"

"We haven't spoken about Christmas either. It's too early anyway," Violet replied, sipping her wine.

"Well, what do you and your family usually do?"

"Something different every year it seems. Our Christmases used to revolve around my step-mother's family, but since the divorce, Dad and I would have Christmas dinners with different cousins or aunts of his. This year, since he's got himself a girlfriend we're all invited around to her family's thing. I really don't want to go. I don't know what Sherlock wants to do."

"He usually has a thing with his family doesn't he? John was saying."

"He did mention it in passing."

"I'm sure he'd love to take you to that. John said he hates it."

"Oh, I don't know. It might just be an intimate thing with his family. Girlfriends may not be welcome."

"No, John said it's huge. Aunties and uncles and cousins and partners and children everywhere. Sherlock always gets asked if has anyone special in his life. I'm sure he'd love you to be there with him."

"Wow. He hasn't said a thing about it. I had no idea he had such a huge extended family. You'd think he was an orphan the way he talks sometimes. I still think his spaceship crashed to Earth a long time ago."

"Or he was the product of a genetic experiment?"

They both laughed.

"Right," said John entering the living room with Sherlock sauntering in after him. "That's all coming along nicely. Mary, did you want to do the broccoli?"

"Oh, yes. Excuse me, Violet," Mary said rising from the couch and following John back into the kitchen.

"How's it going in there?" Violet whispered.

"Bit of a train wreck," Sherlock replied in a low voice, taking a seat next to Violet on the couch. He leant over and kissed her on the cheek. "How's it all going in here? Talking about me?"

"Why would we be talking about you?"

"You're always talking about me," he said, gently taking Violet's hand in his. "I think you like me," he smirked.

"Wherever did you get that idea from?"

"Shot in the dark. Good one though," he replied leaning in for another kiss.

"You're not so clever," she whispered, hooking her fingers into his shirt and pulling him closer.

"Oh, I'm very clever. That's why you like me," he murmured, kissing Violet's neck. He drew back suddenly and added, "And I know something you don't, because I'm so clever."

"What?"

"You work it out. Wine," he said glancing at Mary's glass on the coffee table. "Calendar," he added, indicating the desk calendar on their sideboard against one wall. "And supplements in the kitchen."

"What?"

"Come on. _Think!_"

"I don't know!"

"Look!" he said, turning his head to the calendar again. Some of the dates were circled, and others had numbers written above them.

"No."

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "What alarm has been sounding every month on my phone since we were dating last year?"

"Um... 'Violet is premenstrual'?"

"Yes, and..?" he said, his eyes indicating the calendar again.

John walked in at that moment. "More wine, Violet?" he asked.

"Oh, just a top up, thanks John."

Sherlock gave John a phony smile which both John and Violet thought odd. John returned to the kitchen, calling out to Mary to check the potatoes.

"Come on!" insisted Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I don't know!"

Sherlock leaned closer to Violet and whispered, "They're trying to have a baby!"

"No!"

"Look! How much wine has Mary had?"

"Oh! I thought she was drinking it, but it still looks full."

"And the calendar? Circles around fertile days, probably."

"What supplements are you talking about?"

"Didn't you see them on the kitchen counter?"

"Oh, maybe. I didn't read the label."

"Oh. You see everything I see, but you don't _observe_."

"Okay, genius. Tell me."

"Folic acid."

"Oh."

"Women need to take folate supplements during the preconception period."

"But Mary said John wanted to start his own practice so they wouldn't start until next year."

"Have a baby, or start trying for a baby? Because it takes nine months to grow one."

"Grow one," Violet repeated, laughing. "Oh Sherlock," she said emotionally. "That's so wonderful for them."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Violet, as Mary and John re-entered the room.

"Another five minutes," Mary said. She picked up her wine glass from the coffee table and sat in a nearby armchair.

"Another scotch, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Thank you," Sherlock answered, holding out his glass. John took it and walked over to the cabinet.

"What are you going to do while Violet's filming in Australia, Sherlock?" Mary asked.

"Try surfing," John suggested, chuckling.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but Violet interrupted. "Sherlock can watch me on set."

"Oh, that would be amazing," Mary commented.

"We'll be shooting in the city. I think I have to leap from a tall building."

"Sorry, what?" exclaimed Sherlock.

"Don't worry. I'll be perfectly safe. I've been practising with a safety harness."

"Violet, I don't think this is a good idea."

"It sounds like a bloody good idea. Will you be wearing your horn things?" John asked.

Sherlock scowled as the conversation turned to all of the stunts Violet would have to perform along with various stunt people. Sherlock had an uneasy feeling. He'd rather have not known.

Once dinner was ready, conversation and wine flowed into the dining room, with Sherlock again being the butt of their jokes - particularly his role as best man and how John tricked him into catching Mary's garter.

Violet felt she was getting extremely drunk. Both bottles of wine were emptied and John brought out one of their own.

But it was a lovely evening, and she knew Sherlock had enjoyed himself too. At least they could now have one couple as a regular dinner date. It almost seemed normal.

They caught a cab home, with Violet and Sherlock being too drunk to act with any decorum and making out in the back of the taxi. It reminded Violet of the first night they had kissed over a year ago, although she was much more sober that night, thanks to Sherlock walking her through the empty streets and keeping her awake.

They staggered into the flat, with Sherlock shushing Violet every five seconds every time she wanted to remind him about something funny John had said about Sherlock. He pulled her in for a long and passionate kiss in the entranceway, which moved ever so slowly toward the bottom of the stairs.

"You're not going to get away from me this time," Sherlock rumbled in her ear, obviously reminiscing about the same night.

"Come on, then," Violet slurred, pulling Sherlock upstairs by his coat lapel.

They reached the landing outside the door to the living room, but Violet pulled Sherlock over to the stairs leading up to her rooms.

"Have me on the stairs like you wanted to," she urged him, pushing him against the wall.

Sherlock didn't need to be asked twice. They discarded the bare minimum of clothes to make that happen, with Sherlock fucking her against the wall and then finishing halfway up the stairs.

"We can't lie here," Violet whispered to Sherlock, who lay motionless on top of her.

"Mmm," he murmured. "Couch."

He stood up, grabbed at his underwear and trousers which were still twisted about his ankles, and leant against the wall to zip himself up.

"We have to ... ah you know," he said, slurring quite a bit.

Violet had found her knickers and pulled them up underneath her skirt. "What?"

"Stay awake. Stay awake."

Sherlock drifted into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. "Violet!" he called.

Violet lay down alongside Sherlock. "Stay awake," he said tapping her on the back. "We can't go to sleep until midday."

"Mmm, what time is it?" Violet asked sleepily.

"Midnight."

"Oh, fuck me," Violet yawned.

"I just did," Sherlock giggled.

"I love you," Violet replied, her eyes fluttering shut.

"I love you too," he whispered. "Can we get married?"

Violet raised her head slightly. "Yes. But I'm not going to remember you said that in the morning. Ask me again tomorrow."

"Stay awake, Violet," Sherlock said, tapping her on the back again.

Violet closed her eyes.

Sherlock passed out.

* * *

**A/N: **Sometimes my chapters have time flying by in weeks and occasionally months. Now and then I like to slow things down and just let Sherlock and Violet enjoy each other before throwing them in amongst it again. That okay?

Please review! Just a smiley face if it left you happy, but you can't think of the words to convey that. I just like to know you've read it and felt something. :D


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N:** thank you thank you for reviewing and following! Longest chap ever! I could probably split it in two, but I'm impatient to get to this point in the story.

The next one will be so much shorter by design, so enjoy this one with a cuppa and the usual Tim Tam on me.

* * *

**Chapter 59**

Sherlock had made a firm decision, which both excited and terrified him at the same time: he was going to ask Violet to marry him when they returned to London.

He reached across to her seat and took her hand in his. She was reading the sequel to _The Albatross,_ the book by Jayle Anglesee for which she had recorded the audio book. The publishers were obviously pleased with her work and had commissioned Violet to record the entire series of books of which there were five.

Sherlock's thumb gently caressed Violet's ring finger in particular. He could immediately tell her ring size. _This would be important,_ he thought. He'd have to enlist Mary to help him choose the engagement ring. _Not Mandi. God, no._

His stomach churned in anticipation. He looked over at Violet. She glanced up at him and gave him a quick smile.

_If only she knew,_ he thought. Of course she didn't remember his question the night before, for which he was grateful. He wanted his proposal to be done properly, whatever that was. When he could get a moment to himself he'd have to research it.

_How to propose to your girlfriend._

_God help me._

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered.

"You," he answered truthfully.

She gave him a warm smile and leaned over for a quick kiss.

"Are you worried about me leaping off a tall building?" she asked, noticing his furrowed brow.

"No, I wasn't. But I am now. Thank you for reminding me."

"They wouldn't let me do it if it wasn't safe."

"Don't they have stunt people to do those sorts of things?"

"My stunt woman and I both have to do it. They mix up the camera angles and choose what works best. It's perfectly safe, Sherlock. Stop worrying."

Sherlock pulled his notebook out from the side pocket. "I'm going to do some work. You should sleep soon," he said, tilting his seat back slightly. "And don't order any alcohol."

Violet inserted her headphones and cranked up her music while reading her novel. Beside her, Sherlock began studying a file Mycroft had given him. Violet had been right - just mentioning Australia to Mycroft had prompted him to dig up a case for Sherlock. As unexciting as it seemed, it was still work. Sherlock wouldn't have to resort to headbutting the locals out of boredom.

A car was waiting for them at Sydney airport to take them to their hotel. Violet had instructed Mandi to book herself a separate room so that Violet and Sherlock could have the room to themselves. Violet hated that decision, as it meant that Mandi could have Paul stay over more often. But the alternative: Mandi and Sherlock in the same hotel room - hell would freeze over first.

Violet left Sherlock to sleep for a few hours while she caught up with Mandi. Thankfully Paul wasn't there.

"Did you get it all sorted, whatever your urgent, nothing to do with your relationship, problem was?" Mandi asked Violet over a cup of tea.

"Yes."

"So why did Sherlock have to come back with you? Doesn't he trust you now? Not that he probably ever did."

"Mandi, just butt out, okay? Everything's fine. Sherlock's here because we love each other. That's all you need to know."

"Okay, fine, Vi. I'm just your best friend. Heaven forbid I keep an eye out for you."

"Thank you, Mandi," Violet said rather harshly. And then overcome with guilt at the thought of her friend's possible violent demise, she said softly, "Come here."

Violet held out her arms for a hug.

"Oh, you haven't hugged me in ages."

Violet closed her eyes and sighed while she embraced her friend. _Just don't get me worked up, Mandi, _she thought, _or Jim won't have anyone to feed to the crocodiles or whatever he had planned for you if I kill you first._

Violet returned to her room to find Sherlock awake and showered.

"What do you want to do?" Violet asked, sitting down on the bed, watching Sherlock dress. "Are you hungry? We could have an early dinner. Sunday night, I'm sure there's heaps of places open, or we could order in?"

"Looks interesting out there," Sherlock remarked, nodding to the window. "Let's go for a walk. I'll think about whether I'm hungry or not once we get outside. It's still pretty warm isn't it?"

"You won't need your jacket. Or," she added, looking at him critically, "You could wear something more casual if you like."

"If I like?"

"Well, you know. I'm not telling you what to wear."

"Yet you still added items to my suitcase," Sherlock remarked, walking over to the wardrobe.

"Just in case," she smirked. "It's so hot here. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

In silence, Sherlock began unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged it off as Violet left the room, pausing to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Violet waited for Sherlock out on the balcony, taking in the view of the Harbour Bridge across the water and Circular Quay sprawled down below. She turned and gasped as Sherlock joined her wearing a pair of blue denim jeans she'd bought him for LA, and a t-shirt.

"Casual enough for you?" he said, frowning. "At least these aren't as tight as the black ones." To demonstrate he yanked at the waistband lightly.

"I'm not sure," Violet said, her heart rate increasing. "Let me just check."

Violet walked toward Sherlock, gently pulling him back into the hotel room via his waistband.

"No, Violet," he protested.

"I just need to check something," she whispered, stepping closer.

"I know what you're up to, so just...oh, God, stop it," he murmured unconvincingly.

She'd already unzipped him and had nestled her hand inside, checking for room to move.

She slowly whispered, "I think that's going to be fine, don't you?"

He gulped. "I can't tell just yet." His voice was ragged. "You'll have to keep checking,"

* * *

They eventually left the hotel room after Violet had finished accosting Sherlock. He had given in to her advances, ultimately pulling her down onto the hotel sofa with Violet's mouth finishing what her hand had started.

"Let's keep walking this way, then we can find out what's on at the Opera House," Violet suggested as they joined the throngs of people bustling along the quay.

"I don't like opera."

"There's more than just opera. I thought you liked classical music?"

"But not opera."

"So we'll see something else."

It was very warm by the water. The temperature had stayed in the high twenties all day and was just nudging below 25 by the early evening.

Violet kept stealing glances at Sherlock's butt in his jeans whenever they walked past reflective windows. She wanted to walk with their hands around each other's waists so she could accidentally brush her hand on it now and then, but Sherlock complained that it felt ridiculous and awkward to walk like that.

"My stride is longer than yours," he said, grabbing her hand.

"Look at that couple. They're managing it okay without falling over."

"He's a moron."

Violet laughed.

Sherlock continued. "Look at him. He clearly only picked her up in a bar the night before."

"You're just making that up."

"Coffee?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject and pulling Violet over to a coffee shop with outdoor seating. "You get us a table. I'll order."

Violet found a table and sat down, facing the water. This was the only way to be so far from home, she thought. _With Sherlock. This was much more romantic._ She only hoped his sanity would be able to survive it.

Once he'd returned to the table with a plastic number held aloft by a chrome stand, Violet leaned over and gave him a very long kiss on the lips.

"What was that for?"

"I'm glad you're here!"

Sherlock sipped his coffee and looked around. "So. This guy."

"Sherlock."

"Do you think he's still here? In Australia?"

"Can't say really."

Sherlock leant back in his chair and watched Violet stirring her coffee again.

"The next time he approaches you-"

"Sherlock!"

"Well, there may be a next time. Tell him I want to speak with him," Sherlock added menacingly.

"Sherlock! No!" Violet was horrified.

"Why not?"

"You're not to interfere, or do anything."

"This has got nothing to do with Luxembourg or Germany or whatever else he has a hand in. This has got to do with upsetting my girlfriend."

Violet was speechless. And touched.

Sherlock gave her hand a light squeeze. "He can do anything else he wants and I won't lift a finger. He can blow up the Houses of Parliament or take a dump at number ten, but he's not to upset you again."

Violet laughed, ridiculous images of Jim Moriarty popping into her head. Sherlock grinned back at her.

"So, do you expect to see him again? He who has no name?" Sherlock prompted Violet once more.

"I have no idea. And anyway, we should give him a name."

"He has a name."

"Another name."

"You think of one," Sherlock asked, studying Violet's face intently.

Violet grabbed the menu which was propped up between the salt and pepper shakers and said, "Okay, something from here."

Sherlock frowned.

"Mr Scallopini," she declared.

"Scallopini?" Sherlock repeated.

"Yes. Mr Scallopini. And don't try to make any connection between that and his real name. I chose it randomly from the menu. I know you're trying to do some kind of name association thing with me. This won't reveal his name at all."

"How about a first name?"

"Veal."

Sherlock sighed. "Are you done?" he asked, indicating Violet's coffee mug.

"I guess so. Are you hungry yet? Must be breakfast time for you."

"No. I'm good for a bit. Let's go look at this opera thing."

Violet and Sherlock continued walking along Circular Quay toward Bennelong Point upon which the Sydney Opera House sits.

"Hang on. I need a photo of us with the bridge in the background," Violet exclaimed, dropping Sherlock's hand and pulling her phone out. "Here, you do it. Your arms are longer."

Sherlock sighed and held out Violet's phone in front of them. He put his arm around her as she tilted her head toward his. He was frowning, so Violet turned her head and kissed him just as he took the photo.

"Again, and this time smile," she said. "Wait!"

Violet took her hat off before a gust of wind blew it away. Her sky-coloured hair then whipped Sherlock in the face.

"Swap sides," he suggested irritably.

"Just be happy!" she said as Sherlock raised her phone again and clicked. "Yay! I'll just send this to everybody."

"Everybody?"

"We'll get another photo when we're closer to the Opera House. Thanks," she said, taking her phone back.

They walked along in silence while Violet sent the picture to just about everyone she knew.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" she asked once she'd finished.

Sherlock inwardly cringed. This was Los Angeles all over again. Although it was only a week before Violet was due on set again.

"Whatever you like," he said, forcing a smile onto his face.

"We can stay in the hotel all day, if you're still feeling jetlagged," she said, smiling sweetly.

Sherlock was fearful it was a trap. "I won't know until tomorrow morning," he said quickly.

Sherlock's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his jeans pocket and checked it.

JOHN: [ You're wearing a t-shirt! ]

He sighed and put his phone back again. "You sent it to John?"

"Yes. And Mrs Hudson. And ... other people."

Sherlock's phone buzzed again.

LESTRADE: [ It really is the land downunder. I don't get it. Violet has blue hair and Sherlock Holmes is in a t-shirt! ]

He showed Violet the message. "For Christ's sake, Violet!"

"It's a pity the photo only showed you from the chest up," Violet remarked. "I bet they haven't seen you in jeans either."

Violet moved away from Sherlock, aiming her phone at him.

"No, Violet."

"It's just for me then. Go stand over there."

"No," he stated vehemently, continuing to walk toward the Opera House and away from her.

"Nice," Violet murmured, taking the photo of Sherlock from behind anyway.

Giggling to herself, she skipped up to him, and grabbed his hand.

"When would you prefer me to do this work for Mycroft?" he asked.

"Oh. I don't know. What does it involve?"

"I have to attend the British High Commission in Canberra."

"Where's that?"

"Canberra."

"What's that? Is it in Sydney?"

"It's a city. It's the capital city of Australia."

"Oh! Why did I think Sydney was?"

"Because you're an idiot."

"Thanks. So how far away is it?"

"It's only a one hour flight. I could leave one morning and get back in the evening."

"Oh. Good. Well, I don't know. Did you want to come to the set next week?"

"If you want me to."

"You don't have to come every day. You could go to Canberra on one of the days."

"I won't know how much time I'll need. Perhaps I should go on the Monday of that week, and stay until I'm done."

"Will you be long?"

"I don't think so. It's paperwork. And it's dull."

"What's Mycroft got you doing?"

"One of our diplomats got himself into a spot of bother. Nothing serious. I just have to dig him out."

"So you're not doing any work for the Australian Government then?"

"Nope. Just our lot."

"That's better than nothing I guess."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

They'd reached the top of the steps leading up to the Opera House, so Violet made them pose for a photo again.

"Did you want to see something at the Opera House this week? We can check out the box office," Violet asked, a little too enthusiastically, Sherlock thought.

"I suppose so."

They continued up across the forecourt and into the foyer, with Sherlock feeling self-conscious about appearing in the background of everyone else's photos.

"Wow, there's so much!" Violet exclaimed, taking in all the programs and brochures. "What do you think?"

Sherlock examined the posters adorning one section of one wall.

"Vivaldi," he said.

"Okay," Violet said, smiling encouragingly and picking up the accompanying brochure. "Who are they?"

Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you want to do something with me? Isn't it obvious we have different tastes in this kind of thing? We don't even go to anything at home."

"But this is the Sydney Opera House! We have to go see something, even if it's just this guy," she said, pointing to a pamphlet that featured a balding comedian wearing a stupid grin and an even more ridiculous-looking hat.

"Look, you pick. It doesn't matter."

"Then we'll see Vivaldi," Violet said finally, opening the pamphlet and studying it. "Wednesday through to Saturday. Excellent!"

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously. Violet gave him a mischievous smile in return.

"I'll book it online. Let's go out the front."

"What front?"

"Where the ocean is."

"Why?"

"I want to see it from that angle."

Sherlock sighed. _Outside again._ The wind was annoying him. He noticed more people looking at them now, but he didn't know if it was because Violet's hair was blue or if they had recognised her.

"Let me take a picture of you and the harbour."

"Why?"

"Sentiment, Sherlock. Can you smile at least?" she asked, stepping backwards away from him.

"No. This wind is irritating me."

Violet trotted back to him, and threw her arms around him. "You're grumpy."

"I'm not. Your stupid hair is hitting me in the face again."

Violet laughed then kissed him. "Come on, Eeyore. Let's go back to the hotel. You're obviously jetlagged."

They walked hand in hand back along the boardwalk in silence. Violet whipped her phone out now and again to reply to her messages.

"Oh, I should find out what Mandi's doing for dinner."

"Why?"

"In case everyone's doing something. I don't know who's in town yet. Some of them may still be in Brisbane, although Heath and his girlfriend went to look at Uluru."

Sherlock sighed again, a little too audibly.

"Don't worry," Violet said while tapping away at her phone. "I won't make you go anywhere with anybody."

She pressed send, dropped her phone back into her bag and grabbed Sherlock's hand again.

"Do you want me to talk to this Paul guy? Scare him off or something?"

"No, Sherlock! Don't do anything!"

"Why not? You obviously don't want him around her."

"I don't know what he'll report back to...to ... Scallopini."

"Do you think Paul's in touch with him?"

"I don't know. Just don't do anything, okay?"

"Because if he's in contact with him, we could get him followed."

"Why would we do that?"

"To attach concrete shoes and drop him in the ocean?"

Violet smiled. "Nothing."

"Water torture?"

"Nothing, Sherlock. Promise me!"

Sherlock said nothing as they continued walking.

"You could just tell Mandi he's gay or something. Tell her I said so."

"She doesn't have a lot of respect for you, you know."

"She just doesn't like how I treat you. Surely she appreciates my special skills?" he said, beaming.

"The whole package, Sherlock."

Sherlock sulked all the way back to the hotel. Violet had donned her hat the minute the wind had died down earlier, but Sherlock was conscious they were being followed.

Once they were back in the hotel room Sherlock flopped down onto the sofa. Violet looked through the cupboards.

"We should've gone to a 7-11 or somewhere to get supplies," she said.

Sherlock tutted. "Dull."

"Are you going back to sleep?"

"No," he said, closing his eyes.

"I'm going to have a bath. It's one of those big ones. Did you see?"

"No."

"So...join me if you want?"

"No."

"You do owe me, you know. I gave you your little thing earlier."

She stood over him as he lay motionless. "Sherlock?"

"Mmm."

"Come in when you're ready. I'll be the naked one underneath the bubbles."

She left and then there was a momentary silence until the sound of the bathtub being filled echoed from the walls of the bathroom.

Sherlock's mind clicked into gear.

_Get Mary._

_Choose ring._

_Propose._

_Wedding?_

_Oh God._

_A wedding!_

_Suits, church, speeches, guests._

_Guests!_

_Family._

_Christ!_

_Why can't we just _be_ married. Why do we have to _get_ married._

_Maybe I should stop thinking about the wedding for a moment. Or we could elope! People do that. Sneak away and get married in secret._

_Violet would never do that. She wants to be surrounded by people._

_Dammit._

_Scallopini._

_Stupid name._

_Italian?_

_She chose it at random. But why from a menu? Does his name remind her of food?_

_Veal Scallopini._

_Ridiculous._

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock opened his eyes.

_Violet._

_Why won't she tell me? How much did he upset her? Were there any witnesses? _

_Must have been in a club. _

_That's the only way a complete stranger could walk up to her and not be overheard._

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock sat up and hung his head. He vigorously rubbed his hands through his hair then stood up. As he walked toward the bathroom, he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. Clad only in his denim jeans he stood in the doorway of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe.

Violet was surrounded by bubbles. She was scrubbing one leg with a loofah.

"Sher-" she yelled again, turning her head and pausing when she noticed him standing there. "Oh."

She looked him up and down appreciatively.

"Good God," she said, sitting up.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked innocently, straightening up.

"Are you coming in?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course I am. Why do you think I'm half undressed?"

"I just thought Australia was rubbing off on you somehow."

"How?" he asked, unfastening the button and then the fly.

"Oh, you have no idea," Violet murmured under her breath.

Sherlock turned his back on her and smiled to himself. He did have _some_ idea what he was doing to her. He pulled his jeans and underwear down, glancing at Violet. She was smirking. Sherlock stepped into the bath as Violet sat up and made room for him.

"Ow. Bit hot," he said.

"It's okay once you're in."

Sherlock reluctantly sat down with a satisfied sigh.

"Let me wash you," she said, holding the loofah aloft.

Sherlock sat with his back to Violet as she preceded to lather him up with soap and rub him down with the loofah.

"How long are you planning to keep Mandi in the dark about Paul?" Sherlock asked.

Violet frowned, but kept to her task. "I won't tell her. I'm just hoping she'll come back to London with me when we're done."

"And how did... Scallopini threaten to harm Mandi?"

Violet paused, breathing out deeply. "He said Paul could convince her to stay in Australia longer and hinted that people have nasty accidents in the Northern Territory."

Sherlock was silent as he thought that over. Then he asked, "And what was the video footage for?"

Violet tried to shake the image from her head. "He just wanted to demonstrate that he was already in their lives. Mandi and Paul were..."

She couldn't say it. Sherlock finished her sentence for her. "Fucking."

Violet stopped washing Sherlock and rinsed out the loofah.

"Violet?" he prompted her, turning his head toward her. "Is that what it was?"

"Yes."

"And Emily?"

"Turn around," Violet indicated to Sherlock.

He turned around and leaned back against the edge of the tub. Violet moved toward him and started a very concentrated effort of lathering up his chest area.

"Her video showed her living a life of luxury. And her guy, Owen his name was, gave her a shot of heroin."

"So she's not living in the same place you visited?" Sherlock asked, his mind racing.

"No. I guess not."

Violet concentrated on Sherlock's arms now, his underarms, and along his side.

"What about Matt?"

"He had a video of him dancing in a gay bar in drag. He was going to out him."

"And that's bad because?"

Violet stopped again. "It would destroy his whole world."

"Would be easier if he came out himself."

"No it wouldn't. Yes he should've come out ages ago, but now it'll ruin his career. His reputation rests on the fact that he's a bit of a ladies' man. And there's also his parents to consider. If he's outed, ...Scallopini said he'd be so upset he may even commit suicide."

"Would he?"

"I think whatever happens to him will be made to look like a suicide."

Sherlock leant his head back against the wall while Violet turned her attention to his other arm. Sherlock watched her face with interest.

"And why won't you tell me his name?" he asked softly.

"You know why," she replied, her brow furrowing.

"But you know I can stop him."

She stopped her work on his arm. "Sherlock! I don't know that!"

"Violet, you have to trust me."

"And you have to trust me! Don't do anything!"

Violet started to lather up Sherlock's chest again, so he stopped her, resting his hand on hers. He said, "Trust in me that I can stop him. You know I can."

"Stop saying that! You can't guarantee that."

"You know me. I can."

"You can't. He's cleverer than you."

There. She said it. She looked into Sherlock's eyes. She saw a flicker of hurt there.

"Do you believe that?" he said softly.

"I...I don't know," she said, faltering and looking down.

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because _he_ said it."

"What else did he say about me?"

"Sherlock."

"What else?"

"He said he was the same as you, only you're boring."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Violet. "How am I boring? What makes him so interesting?"

"I don't know."

"Well if he's the same as me, only cleverer and more interesting, do you find him attractive?"

"Sherlock!"

"Do you?"

"God no! Are you insane?"

"Would that make me more interesting?"

Violet splashed water in Sherlock's face and slid backwards away from him. "Idiot."

"Ow. Eyes stinging," he said, pressing a finger to his eyelid. "Soap in my eye, Violet."

"Serves you right for making such a stupid statement."

"Come here," he said, leaning forward and pulling her toward him. "I wanted to know if you were okay." He caressed her face with a sudsy hand. "Sorry," he said, trying to wipe the bubbles off.

"He just - I don't know - surprised me, that's all. He caught me unaware."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when someone starts talking to you, you don't expect them to start making death threats against your friends. Unless they're Sebastian Moran or somebody. He was just talking normally, but the stuff he was saying was so...bizarre."

"So he was just talking normally? He wasn't yelling, or didn't have you tied to a chair or anything."

"No."

"So you didn't have to resort to slapping him or spitting in his face?"

"No."

"Why was he spared when the rest of us are not?"

In spite of herself, Violet smiled. "I don't know," she shrugged.

Sherlock leant closer and kissed her gently.

"Come on, turn around," he said, grabbing the loofah out of Violet's hand. "Your turn. If you scrub my chest one more time, I'll have no skin left.

Violet leant back against Sherlock's chest. He made a half-hearted attempted at cleaning her, eventually discarding the loofah and preferring to use his hands. He kissed her on the side of her neck as she made appreciative noises.

"Do you want me to keep doing this?" he asked, his hand gliding between her legs. "Or do you want me to make love to you?"

"Mmm, both," she whispered.

They ended up in bed, with Sherlock saying the traction wasn't as good in water as it was in air, which Violet found hysterical. Sherlock had to wait until her giggling fit had subsided before they could continue.

Afterwards, Sherlock stayed awake, sitting up in the living area while Violet slept. He researched _proposing to your girlfriend_ and also _how to convince your fiancee to elope_. The results of both searches left him dissatisfied. He was going to have to ask the help of real people: John and Mary.

He sighed and put his computer on the coffee table. He went back to the bedroom, and slipped in beside Violet hoping to rouse her, but she stayed asleep.

_I'm going to marry you,_ he thought, holding his face close to hers, and brushing her hair away from her face.

Why marry her when just a lifelong commitment would've sufficed? He thought that would be enough for her. But he noticed that whenever they were around John and Mary and they'd talk about 'being married' or she'd see photos of them together, her face would get this far way look, and he realised, just saying he was committed to her wouldn't be enough. He had to put away his own prejudices and just get the fuck on with it.

"Will you marry me, Violet?" he said softly to her sleeping form. He kissed her on the lips and closed his eyes.

* * *

Violet and Sherlock spent the next day cuddling and snuggling in the hotel. Sherlock's circadian rhythm was still out of sync with the local time zone, or so he had said. He went back to bed shortly after breakfast, enticing Violet back in with him.

They ordered in, watched crap telly, and even found an old episode of Regency Road to watch on in-house cable.

Mandi surprised Violet by uncharacteristically performing a personal assistant's duty and stopping by with groceries.

"It was Paul's idea," she had said, causing Violet's insides to churn violently.

They went for another evening walk along Circular Quay, this time heading in the direction of the CBD.

"Look, we can go to the zoo," Violet exclaimed, eyeing the signboards along the ferry terminals.

"Mmm," Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows in an act of phony commitment.

"We can see kangaroos. And koalas! Won't you like that? You like nature, don't you?"

"Do I?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

"Don't you?"

"What makes you think I do?"

"Because of all those dead insects and that...ugh..bat thing in a frame. There's insects and things everywhere in the flat."

Sherlock shrugged. "I didn't buy them."

"Who did?"

"People who think because I have a scientific mind that I must like all things scientific."

Violet started laughing then, causing Sherlock to chuckle as well.

"So you don't like nature?"

"Nope."

"Animals and plants?"

"I know what nature is. Unless it serves a purpose for my work, no. I know a great deal about natural poisons though, different kinds of grasses and plants, because people stand on them. Traces of the natural world as well as man-made substances adhere to their shoes. When I want to track where a person has been, the mud on their shoes is as clear as a map reference to me."

"Didn't ever want a puppy then?"

"If I did, it would've been to study the nature of a dog in relation to the nature of its owners. You can tell a lot about the true personalities of people behind closed doors by the way their pets, and dogs in particular, behave."

"I know what your puppy would've been like. Hyper one minute, then moping on the couch the next. You're just like a puppy. You're my puppy dog!" she said, rubbing her fingers through his curls.

"Don't!" he warned, angling his head away.

They continued walking past the ferry terminals, with Violet taking in everything with the keen interest of a child.

"Don't let go of my hand," she instructed Sherlock when he let go once in order to check his phone. "I don't want to bump into anybody while I'm looking around."

Sherlock sighed. Violet was craning her neck to see over a crowd of people gathered around a couple of performance artists pretending to be statues. He steered her around a few families pushing strollers, themselves guiding their own children.

"You really are a danger to yourself and others," Sherlock muttered.

They were into the CBD soon enough, with Sherlock tutting every time Violet pointed out a store similar to one they had in London.

"Look how many souvenir stores there are!"

"You don't want to buy anything do you?" Sherlock asked, a pained expression on his face.

"Just wanna get something for Ben. He and Ally are thinking about a second honeymoon to Australia. They only went to Scotland after their wedding remember?"

"Yes," sighed Sherlock as they entered the discount store.

_No_, he did not remember.

That was another item to add to his ever growing list of things to hate about getting married.

_The honeymoon._

_A holiday in disguise._

_Grab a holiday, anywhere in the world, even Cornwall, wrap it up in wedding bows and sell it as a honeymoon destination._

_Stupid name anyway._

_Honey._

_Moon._

"How about this?" Violet held up a pair of koala slippers.

Sherlock frowned at her.

"Christmas decorations," Violet remarked. "It's not even Halloween yet. Do they celebrate Halloween in Australia?"

"What's to celebrate," Sherlock muttered.

"Do you put up decorations in Baker Street?" Violet asked, while fingering a length of tinsel.

"Mrs Hudson does," Sherlock said with distaste. "John enthusiastically helps her. Or at least he did."

"What about at your parents' house?"

Sherlock shrugged and turned away, picking up a snow dome containing the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

"It doesn't snow in Sydney," he scoffed, shaking the dome up and down and watching the sparkling glitter flutter and fall about the miniature wonder of the world.

"We'll be together this Christmas," Violet whispered beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist and gazing up at him expectantly. "Won't we?"

Sherlock returned the souvenir to the shelf and returned Violet's embrace. He took a deep breath and asked, "Do you want to come to my -" He paused, searching for an alternate word to replace the one that left a bad taste in his mouth. Nope, couldn't find another. "-Family Christmas dinner?"

_Please say no._

"Oh, Sherlock!"

She stood on tiptoe to steal a kiss from his lips which were drawn down in a thin line.

"Of course I do!"

"Good," he said, patting her on the back, and attempting to walk away.

"Who will be there? Your mum and dad? Mycroft? Will Mycroft be there? At least I'll know somebody. Do you have an extended family? Is it a big thing? Should I bring your parents a present? What should I wear? Where is it? In the country? Will we have to stay overnight somewhere? In your family home? Oh, Sherlock! Will I get to see where you grew up?"

Sherlock was halfway out of the store as Violet followed him, inundating him with questions of which none were answered.

"Is it a big house? I keep thinking your parents are upper class or something."

"Violet, shh! We'll talk about it later. Let's just get through one painful moment at a time."

Sherlock had walked on ahead a few steps before he realised Violet had stopped behind him. Without turning around, he too stopped, sighing deeply and hanging his head.

_Wrong word choice, idiot._

He waited a beat and then turned slowly, walking back to her. She had her arms crossed and was glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hulk. I made you angry," he said softly, rubbing her arms gently. "Please don't turn green, although the shredding of your clothing leaving you naked from the waist up may be a welcome distraction."

"Being with me is painful?"

"Of course not, light of my life," he said, bending down and kissing her. "Being _without_ you is painful."

He studied her face closely, watching for a hint of the loveable Violet behind the creature's angry glare. So he continued, "You'll love Christmas there. The house is full of...people. And you love nattering to old ladies and strangers. There'll be plenty of those. I find it painful because I hate that sort of thing."

"But they're _your_ people, aren't they?" Violet asked, her face softening considerably.

"I am related to them, apparently."

"And you're not embarrassed about me to take me there?"

"Why would I be embarrassed about you?"

_Family yes, Violet no._

"Because I'm an airhead. Isn't your family full of clever people?"

"You're not an _airhead_. And no, it's not."

Sherlock took Violet by the hand and they continued walking. "You'll find out soon enough," he said. "I don't like to talk about them," he said with an air of finality that made Violet drop the subject. _For now._

They ended up having dinner in a Chinese restaurant that Sherlock declared was good enough because of the bottom third of the door handle - an explanation of which was not forthcoming to Violet.

Wednesday's activities went along similar lines, except for the evening where they attended the Opera House for an Italian chamber orchestra's performance of Vivaldi's _The Four Seasons._ Violet had no idea what it was until she heard Spring, _La primavera_, deeply offending Sherlock by exclaiming "It's from that car ad!"

Violet spent Thursday morning with Mandi, catching up and confirming interview times and photoshoot requests back in London. She also heard that most of the actors and crew had been spending each day at Bondi.

Back in their hotel room Violet tried to convince Sherlock to at least come and have a look at the beach to which he politely declined.

"You should go," he said, tapping away at his computer. "Mycroft said I should go to Canberra soon anyway. The ambassador is leaving this weekend for a holiday, and I'd really like to question him in person before he leaves. You can spend a couple of days with your friends before you have to start back on set, and I can get this over and done with."

It was perfectly timed then.

Sherlock was able to secure a flight at midday for the capital, while Violet packed for the beach. She was going with Heath and his girlfriend, Imogen, as well as Emma, her hair stylist. Everyone else had left much earlier that morning and Violet didn't want to travel with Mandi and Paul.

Since Violet had already given the first exclusive photo to Billy with her blue hair, she didn't feel the need to hide it as much once she was in the company of her co-stars at the beach. It was obvious who she was.

She had texted Sherlock throughout the day, to which he only replied once.

"Bored," came his reply.

In the evening he phoned her to say he was "knee deep in the most utterly dull and repetitive pile of bureaucratic ramblings I've ever read and I probably won't fly back until Friday night."

Violet was easily distracted by a visit, once again, to the Opera House to watch a local production of _Romeo and Juliet._ She went along with her co-stars and Max, their Director. They all posed for photographs for a national newspaper and local entertainment and gossip magazines after the performance.

Violet made sure she didn't stand next to Joseph Irkhardt in any of the photos.

She carefully avoided doing anything with Mandi and Paul during the two days Sherlock was away.

When he finally arrived back late Friday evening, Violet was already in bed and fast asleep. She sleepily complained that he shouldn't have awakened her because she had to be up at 4am every morning starting from Sunday and she was trying to adjust her body clock.

"I'll help you sleep," he suggested in his usual fashion, showering her with kisses and caresses.

They spent Saturday morning arguing about going to the Sydney Observatory, with Sherlock feeling insulted that Violet had chosen something "to do with science" just like every "ignorant moron in his life". And didn't she know by now that unless a crime had been commited in outer space and involved the reordering of the planets then he couldn't care less if Pluto was demoted or that Jupiter is just a giant ball of gas. If it were a giant ball of wool he would be even less interested.

And of course his tirade of abuse resulted in Violet not speaking to him at all.

He then spent no less than four hours pandering to her every whim, complimenting her, pointing out dramatic and literary events that were going on around the city that they could attend, and even said he would go with her and her co-stars to a club next Friday night where Plastic Feet or Smelly Feet or Plastic Prosthetics or whatever the hell they were called, were performing.

Violet begrudgingly said, "Okay then," but still wouldn't let him kiss her.

Sherlock had one last ace up his sleeve to get Violet's full attention back. He changed out of his pyjamas, that he'd been wearing all day (and that in itself couldn't have helped matters) and pulled on his jeans, omitting to zip them up, pretending he was searching for his t-shirt.

"Have you seen it? I want to wear it tonight," he asked Violet, striding past her several times on purpose, then stopping by the kitchen counter and leaning against it, brow furrowed.

"Violet? Have you seen the black t-shirt you bought me? The one with that thing on it."

"Look in the linen bag," she said, not looking up from her ipad.

"What linen bag?"

"It's in the..." She paused. She had looked up.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pretending he was waiting for the end of her sentence, when in actual fact, he was waiting for her reaction.

"You're an asshole," she said.

"Why?" he asked, pitching his voice low on purpose.

"You should've tried that much, much earlier," she said, putting her ipad down on the coffee table.

She stretched out on the sofa, her arms lazily about her head and said, "You have some apologising to do.'

On Sunday morning Violet was up and out of the door before Sherlock had even stirred. She left him a text saying they would be shooting until 5pm with a break at lunchtime, and to text her if he was coming down so she could arrange for security to let him through, otherwise he could come back when they were shooting in the afternoons throughout the week.

Sherlock didn't make it to the set that Sunday, but he promised to go along with Violet on Monday afternoon. During the week they were only shooting from 5am to 8am and then again from 5pm to 8pm in the evenings, so Violet still had most of the day to spend with Sherlock. She didn't really want to go anywhere during that time. She preferred to rest because of the early starts, but still wanted to get in two hours exercise in the hotel gym with their trainer.

Violet had warned Sherlock that there would be a lot of waiting about and even then he'd only get to see her from a distance. There was a lot of running around in and out of buildings, and with it not being shot in sequence nor a context Sherlock could understand he was rapidly becoming bored.

The next day he sat in a cafe with some of the crew and tuned them out while he was on his computer, this time searching marriage celebrants in London who could conduct the shortest possible service.

Disappointed with his findings, her turned to researching the director, Max Burnott. There wasn't much to find about the man, except for a long list of movie credits which meant little to Sherlock. He fired off an email to Mycroft requesting more information about the director.

He then sent a text to Dan Corlionne asking him to confirm that Emily was no longer living in Ukara Street and had he found her?

His phone buzzed while he was ordering another coffee.

MYCROFT: [ Are you trying to waste my time? Another award winning director? ]

Sherlock sighed and mentally thumbed through the file which was titled 'Seedy Show Biz Types' in his Mind Palace's Violet Vault. Damien Oakeshott, Justin Behme, ah... Jim Moriarty.

He typed "Jim Moriarty Etienne-Lumiere Studios" into the search engine and then deleted it all before hitting the search button.

_No_, he thought, and typed again.

_James_ Moriarty.

He hit search and was disappointed to find far too many entries: Catholic bishop, New Zealand photographer, U.S. diplomat, lawyer, baker, female impersonator. Excellent.

One of the most popular surnames to come out of Ireland and one of the most numerous given names in the English language.

He started again with what he had before, modifying it slightly.

James Moriarty Etienne-Lumiere Studios

_Chief Operating Officer - oversees worldwide operations for film production, marketing and distribution..._

_Oh, dull._

_And before that, Mr Moriarty?_

_Market share leader in packaged media and digital distribution._

_Rivetting._

_And before that?_

_Nothing._

Sherlock frowned. _Not even a stint as a video store clerk in Dublin?_

He pulled out his phone once more.

SHERLOCK: [ James Moriarty Etienne-Lumiere Studios C.O.O. Thank you dear brother. ]

MYCROFT: [ Just this last one Sherlock. Do try to give Mummy a call won't you? ]

Sherlock sighed and looked down at the menu.

_Chocolate hedgehog. What on earth is that?_

Sherlock didn't return to the set with Violet until the Friday when she told him she would be falling from the top of a building.

"Falling? I thought you were leaping."

"I meant falling."

"Why?"

"Because Apophis poison's Satis with his serpent serum and..."

"His what?"

"Serpent serum."

"How does he do that?"

"I thought you've read the comic?"

"You said it wouldn't be the same, so I didn't finish it."

"Well, this bit's the same. His staff - the one that turns into a cobra - it strikes out at her. Anyway, she's bitten and he pushes her off the edge of the building."

Sherlock's eyes were wide as he asked, "And then what happens?"

Violet smirked. "Now that would be spoiling it."

Sherlock looked wounded. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

"Come to the set."

So Sherlock was given Violet's director's chair to sit in, near the monitors, so he could watch what was happening on the roof top.

Three times he saw Violet being pushed from the roof, then fall, her body limp from being "poisoned" and landing on a crash mat below amid cheers from the crew. And each time his heart was in his mouth. In between takes she came over to him and gave him a big kiss and would say, "We're going again!" He found her very disconcerting as she was in full Satis rig now: horns, long flowing aqua hair and liquid gold coloured contact lenses.

They only had Saturday off as Sundays were the quietest days on the streets and therefore the best for filming. Sherlock had flopped onto the sofa in a fit of boredom.

"Everyone's going to the international food festival," Violet said, drying her hair with a towel. She had just spent two hours in the gym.

"Good for everyone," Sherlock commented feebly.

"I want to try the Greek pastries."

"I had some in Greece. They're overrated."

"Are you having one of your low moments?"

"I don't have a case."

"There are plenty of other things to stimulate you in Sydney. Come on, Sherlock!"

"I can't live without brain work."

"I thought you couldn't live without me?"

"Mmm."

"We've only got one more week to go."

Sherlock's whole body cringed and he plopped a cushion onto his head.

_He's in one of those moods, _Violet thought. _And no case is going to miraculously appear in Sydney. He was only going to go downhill from here on._

"Why don't you go back home?" Violet said softly. "And get started on the laundry?"

Sherlock peeped out from underneath the cushion. This was surely a trap for unsuspecting detective boyfriends.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"We'll only be apart for one week, but that one week will kill you, or I'll probably kill you if you can't snap out of this black mood. So you should go back to London. Fumigate my rooms, or something. I'm fine, really."

"When you usually say fine, you always mean the raging hormonal..."

"I'm okay, Sherlock," she laughed. "I'm going to be super busy, and no fun in between shooting. You've visited me on set, and we've done a few things together. It's been a wonderful sort-of holiday. But if you stay, we'll only end up fighting every day, and I'd rather leave with happy memories of being in Australia with you."

Sherlock propped the cushion underneath his head. He could go back to London and organise the ring with Mary while Violet wasn't there. He'd have the whole week to organise something resembling a proposal. Sherlock swallowed uneasily. He was going to do this.

"Fine. Good," he managed to say. "I'll leave on the first flight tonight since you're working tomorrow."

Violet still felt a little bit disappointed. He didn't even try to insist he would cheer up in order to stay with her. She was fine. Sort of. Still, she wanted him to _want_ to be with her. All he could think about was getting back to London for the work, she thought.

She bent over and kissed his forehead.

In light of that turn of events Violet forgot about the international food festival and lay on the sofa with Sherlock. They snacked, (carrot sticks for her, and a chocolate hedgehog for him) and snogged during the day time chat shows. Sherlock yelled at the telly almost as much as the participants yelled at each other.

They ordered in, then made love one more time before Violet had to go to sleep at 8pm. Sherlock was catching the 9:40pm flight from Sydney to London via Dubai. He had called down for a cab and was sitting next to her as she lay in bed.

"I love you," she said, wrapping her arms around him.

"I love you, too," he murmured before kissing her again. _You're going to be my fiancee, _he thought smiling to himself.

"What?" she asked, catching the last remnants of his smile.

"This was a nice holiday, wasn't it?"

Violet grinned. "Yes it was. Please answer your phone or text me when you're back home?"

"I will," he said. "I'd better go."

They kissed one last time before Sherlock left.

The next morning everyone on set was in a state of extreme agitation. It was the last Sunday they had to shoot and key scenes were needed to be shot that day. They could probably make it up during the week, but the week day availability of the streets was extremely limited and they really needed to wrap principal photography by Friday.

Violet had to concentrate on coming out of a tumble and then catching a death ray fired at her by a serpent demon. In reality she had to catch a stick marked with motion sensors thrown by a stuntman wearing a motion capture suit.

She just couldn't get it. At 11am her suit was hot and stuffy and she had to keep asking for water. She felt like a fragile princess.

At 11:30 Max yelled, "For fuck's sake, Hunter!" at her and she burst into tears. Max had never sworn at anyone on set.

They had to continue shooting other scenes around her while Violet cooled down in a shower in the trailer she had to share with Heath. Mandi brought her phone over to her to cheer her up. She had received a text from Sherlock. He had taken a photo of the harbour from the plane with his phone, which also showed Circular Quay and therefore their hotel, and had typed "Our Aussie love nest x" in his message.

At 4pm they tried the scene again. She made it in the first take, to her and everyone's relief.

Violet had a quiet night in. She was joined by Mandi, but had to cut her short claiming tiredness when Mandi started espousing all the wonderful things Paul said and did.

The next morning on set was less taxing on Violet. They all had to wait for the water truck to drench the street once more because the humidity had dried it out too quickly. Violet made sure she was well hydrated herself. She'd asked Mandi to bring her another water bottle when her friend came back holding out Violet's phone with a concerned look on her face.

"I don't know who that message was about. The call came from someone called Riley? He's in your contacts. It didn't even sound like he was talking to you. Is he usually drunk or something?"

Violet froze. Riley never called. The number in her contacts list was his parents' house.

Violet reluctantly called her messagebank. Mandi stood by, looking worried.

"Lettie? Lettie...it's me, Riley. Lettie, she's ... she's ... I don't know. She won't wake up. Em, get the fuck up. Bad gear, he gave her, fuck Lettie. Em's gone. She's fuckin' gone."

Violet dropped her phone.

"Vi?"

_Oh God, this isn't happening._

_Emily._

_Sherlock. What have you done?_

* * *

**A/N: **

I'm sorry...please review? Sorry about the ending ):


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: **Thank you for your kind and enthusiastic reviews! Without them, I wouldn't feel as motivated to keep on updating as frequently. So thank you, thank you 100 times over!

In this chap, I've substituted commas for periods in my fictional website addresses as ff was removing the names altogether.

* * *

**Chapter 60**

**THE STREET HERALD**  
Monday 11th November

**_VIOLET HUNTER COLLAPSES  
ON SET OF RISE OF THE FIVE_**

Producers called paramedics to the set of the Anuket's Children sequel as British actress Violet Hunter collapsed while waiting to shoot a minor scene in the eagerly awaited blockbuster. Hunter's personal assistant said she had been working long hours and had suffered from exhaustion and dehydration.

Studio reps have confirmed that the actress recovered quite quickly and will resume filming tomorrow.

The former Regency Road soap star had been shooting the movie in Brisbane, Australia since mid-September. Production moved to Sydney last week. Soaring temperatures and a heavy filming schedule may have been contributing factors according to an anonymous studio source.

The Anuket's Children sequel, The Rise of the Five is expected to wrap principal photography this week. Hunter plays the Egyptian deity, Satis, who makes up the fifth member of the Anuket's Children band of superheroes.

Hunter is expected to return to the UK amid speculation that she may replace Camryn Sayer opposite Alex Breville in the dark romance thriller Improbity.

o

**CELEBRATS,NET **

_THE LATEST IN CELEBRITY NEWS!_

Wednesday 13th November

**_VIOLET HUNTER SPLITS _**

**_WITH BOYFRIEND_**

Violet Hunter is back on the market after splitting with her live-in boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. Sources reveal that the Rise of the Five star will move out of their central London flat upon her return to the UK. Hunter has been filming the Anuket's Children sequel in Australia for the last two months. A friend of the star said conflicting work schedules and living on separate continents was to blame.

"A long distance relationship is too difficult to maintain," the source was quoted as saying.

Hunter collapsed on the set of the blockbuster only two days ago, but her rep has declined to comment on whether her condition was related to the break-up.

o

**LowFatIcream,net**

_Indulge in Entertainment Gossip without the calories!_

Wednesday 13th November

**_RISE OF THE FIVE STAR NEWLY SINGLE_**

Violet Hunter and her forensic specialist boyfriend of 8 months have called it quits. A source revealed that they have decided to amicably separate. Sherlock Holmes, himself an internet celebrity amongst geeks for his science website, visited the star on the set of the Anuket's Children sequel the previous week sparking rumours that their brief romance was in jeopardy.

We're sure Satis won't be single for long! She was spotted around Brisbane town, enjoying the sunshine with co-star and our favourite LowFatIceCream hunk, Joseph Irkhardt. Our Joe has also split from his model girlfriend paving the way for a blossoming romance between the Egyptian God and Goddess.

We can only hope right!

o

**SNAPX MAGAZINE**  
Friday 15th November

**_VIOLET WAS MISERABLE!_**

A close friend of Violet Hunter revealed to Snapx that the unlikely couple had a heated relationship and that they regularly clashed over how to balance their relationship with their individual careers.

"Violet was often in tears," our source revealed. "Sherlock was quite jealous of the attention Violet was getting from fans, and of her friendships with co-stars."

Sherlock Holmes, a freelance detective for the Metropolitan Police, had frequent clashes with the press, reportedly smashing a fan's phone and cutting short Hunter's autograph signing with fans ahead of her interview on The Late Show with Tevish Stewart. The Late Show host, however, defended the detective in his opening monologue this week with a heartfelt comment, "I don't know what all the negativity is about. He's a good guy, but good guys don't always get the girl."

The Regency Road beauty confided in a friend that "it was an emotional rollercoaster and I'm glad it's over."

Violet's rep said, "They're taking a break," while our source says, "They're done."

o

**HOT NOW MAGAZINE**  
Monday 18th November

_**CAMRYN OUT! VIOLET IN!**_

Producers for the sultry thriller starring Alex Breville have announced today that Camryn Sayer has been released from her contract for Improbity just one week before shooting was to commence.

"The creative team has decided to go in a different direction. Sayer was given the option to accept the changes or opt out of her contract. She chose to leave."

Sayer's character, a love interest for Alex Breville's troubled musician, will now be portrayed by Violet Hunter. Hunter has recently returned to the UK after spending the past two months filming the sequel to the US blockbuster, Anuket's Children.

"We initially had Hunter in mind for the role when we began casting, but due to her other filming commitments she thought it best to decline. We are fortunate that shooting for The Rise of the Five finished on time, making Hunter available for our film," a spokesman for the film's producers said.

Violet Hunter's spokesperson said that Violet is "happy just to be working."

Speculation has arisen as to the nature of the Catherine Hilderness star's split with her detective boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes a week ago. The couple are said to have ended their relationship in order to concentrate on their separate careers.

o

**THE WORLD TIMES**  
Thursday 5th December

_**VIOLET HUNTER IS A HISTORY GEEK!**  
by Evalyn Murray_

"Would you like extra sugar? Here have mine."

That is Violet Hunter trying to entice me to overdose on sugar. She's having hot chocolate. "It's already sweetened," she says, blowing delicately across the top of her mug. She is so polite and quietly spoken I feel as if we are on the set of Catherine Hilderness.

And she looks impeccable: not a hair out of place although she was twenty minutes late for our meeting. "I'm so sorry! I thought you meant Holbrook's on Kent, so I ran..." She ran! "...two blocks to get here."

Hunter is a far cry from the teenage girl she portrayed on the soap Regency Road. So how did she get from the east end of London to the west coast of the United States in less than a year?

"Luck! That's it pure and simple. Someone had spoken to somebody else whose brother-in-law had seen me in a small theatre production and it just snowballed from there.

The "small theatre production" was Rose's War, in which Hunter played the titular character. I went along on opening night, and again for the last night and was blown away by the maturity of her performance. And my friend, a theatre enthusiast, who saw the production four times said, "Now there's someone who has a beautiful soul."

So why did she follow this "brilliant performance, striking a perfect balance between portraying the strength of women in wartime and the vulnerabilities of a girl betrayed by those she chose to comfort" as reviewed by one critic, to playing a melodramatic adolescent on a television soap opera?

"When Rose's War concluded I was going through some personal stuff. I just wanted to be employed really. I had two auditions in Manchester and didn't even get a call back. When the casting call came out for Regency Road I jumped at the chance."

Hunter's foray into the mini-celebrity world of British soap operas earned her not only a TELSA for Best Dramatic Scene, but a fast-growing legion of fans who followed her every move on Twitter and celebrity gossip sites such as LowFatIceCream.

"I appreciate that TV shows and films generate fans. They're our audience. But when they become obsessed with your personal life and ultimately feed the paparazzi's need to photograph you in your most intimate moments - that can take a lot out of you. Unfortunately that also takes its toll on those close to you and not everyone is as resilient to the constant presence of the media as others are."

At this point in our interview, Violet slowly and absentmindedly stirs her hot chocolate and then takes a sip of it from her teaspoon.

"A bad habit," she grins mischievously. "Not very English or posh at all!"

And so the discussion moves on to the posh Catherine Hilderness - the mini series which surprised her soap fans just by the fact that Hunter didn't herald from Manchester at all.

"That was a whole lot of silliness. I spent a bit of time in Manchester. A few of my closest friends live there. So I can do a Manc accent. So what? I can also do Scottish, Irish, American, and I think I can now add Australian to that list."

At which point she asks me "How's it goin', mate?" with the perfect ocker accent of someone from Downunder.

Her performance in the classic mini-series caused a stir just recently when critics applauded Hunter's performance, panning veteran actress Ursula Aldman's in the process.

"I wish that didn't happen. They were two quite different portrayals really. They had to be in order to show Catherine's growth as a woman at the turn of the century."

I asked her how she had prepared for the role, and were there any similarities she felt between Catherine of the late 1800s and Rose, in the 1940s.

"My previous boyfriend was mad on research. He would find out the ins and outs of everything. I guess I picked that up from him. Up until we met, my research for roles would be in the form of literature and more literature. Anything else by the same author or playwright, or works of the same genre or period by their contemporaries. I didn't imagine obtaining the cold, hard facts about an era or the people who lived at the time. And now I'm a complete history geek. I became obsessed with the late 1800s - from the clothes they wore, to the tobacco they smoked. Did you know there are 242 different types of tobacco ash?"

At this point in the interview she gazes distractedly out of the window, possibly transported back to the comfortable flat she once shared with her boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, a minor celebrity in his own right. Despite the recent press, the speculation of abuse, jealousies and rumours of an affair, she manages to say, unguarded, "Sherlock and I are still very close. But sometimes you have to find a balance with what's really important."

And then her face brightens and she gushes, "Ask me about Anuket's Children. That was a lot of fun!"

It turns out she did do a whole lot of research about Egyptian deities, and had prepared for her interaction with the original characters by watching the first movie and making notes.

"I found that the original writer of the comic books liked the name Anuket and not Satis, so he named the series 'Anuket's Children' when in fact, according to Egyptian mythology, Satis is the mother of Anuket. I did a lot of reading about Satis. It's hard to know how to portray the personality of a deity, so I had to make her my own."

When asked if she felt any extra pressure for her performance in a Hollywood blockbuster as opposed to the mini series she states, "It's only the pressure I put on myself to produce a believable performance. I think the perceived pressure that comes externally, from the fans, you don't feel during production. By the time we enter that world, the finished product will be well and truly done. I won't be able to do anything about it, and I'd have already moved on."

I ventured into forbidden territory at this point, asking about her co-stars and those photos.

"Joe is like a little brother to me. He was going through a terrible break-up. I was happy to be there for him in a big sister kind of way."

At which point she smiles enigmatically and sips her hot chocolate from her teaspoon again.

So what's in store for Violet Hunter in the next year?

"I've got Improbity here in London, followed by Arthur Avenue in New York. I think I'm falling in love with New York, so hopefully something else will come along when I'm over there!"

We hope she won't stay away too long, and that the chance to play opposite Alex Breville in a Larssen Jenkins directed thriller will keep her invested and interested in British film.

"Improbity is a dark dark film. Alex's character and his girlfriend who I play are clearly unsure of themselves and that carries across in the situation they find themselves in. I'm looking forward to exploring that relationship in more depth. I can't wait!"

And of the sex scene Alex Breville keeps hinting about? She laughs.

"Let's just say, I'm glad I'm single!"

o

**CELEBRATS,NET**

_THE LATEST IN CELEBRITY NEWS!_  
Saturday 7th December

**_RISE OF FIVE AFFAIR BETWEEN  
CO-STARS ENDED TWO  
RELATIONSHIPS!_**

A friend of model Chelsea Papazoglou has intimated to us that the reason Rise of the Five star Joseph Irkhardt's relationship with the dark-haired beauty ended was based in part on the bull deity's obsession with British actress Violet Hunter, his co-star in the action flick.

"He heard she was going to co-star in his movie and he became obsessed with finding out all about her," a friend of Chelsea's said.

Hunter and Irkhardt developed a close friendship on the set of the superhero action movie last month, which resulted in Hunter's split from her boyfriend, a UK-based police detective.

Representatives of the starlet said, "They agreed to separate. It was over scheduling and had nothing to do with a third party."

Irkhardt's reps declined to comment. Joseph Irkhardt is currently filming an action thriller in the States, while Violet Hunter is shooting a film in London.

o

**LowFatIcecream,net**

_Indulge in Entertainment Gossip without the calories!_

Monday 9th December

**_CLOSE FRIEND TELLS ALL  
ON VIOLET'S SPLIT WITH BEAU!_**

A source close to the Rise of the Five star recently stated that her relationship with the science geek had been far from happy.

"Most people were surprised that they even got together in the first place. None of us were surprised that she ended it."

The source revealed that Violet Hunter and Sherlock Holmes had actually attempted to date last year, when the actress rented out the room in the same building as Holmes.

"He dazzled her with his intellect but was surprised that she was even interested in him. She was a struggling actress at the time so I'm not surprised she was attracted to his wallet. They broke it off when she started rehearsing intimate scenes for Rose's War. He was jealous of her co-star."

Rose's War was a theatre production in which Hunter played the title character. "It involved a lot of kissing, and a disturbing rape scene," our source informed us. "There was no way Sherlock was going to sit through that."

They were spotted canoodling again three months later during Hunter's brief stint on British soap opera Regency Road.

"Sherlock saw her on that and he became obsessed with her all over again."

The couple looked happy attending the TELSAs together, the British equivalent of The Soapies.

"I'm happier than I've ever been. Sherlock is very special to me." Hunter was quoted as saying in an interview in May.

But their romance soon turned sour due to Hunter's rising popularity and the constant presence of paparazzi outside their door.

"Sherlock couldn't stand to share Violet with her fans. Violet always said that communication and being brutally honest was the key to their relationship. Unfortunately Sherlock was more brutal than honest. No wonder she found comfort in the arms of another man."

A spokesperson for Violet Hunter told us, "Violet will always adore Sherlock and they'll always remain good friends."

o

**LowFatIcecream,net**

_Indulge in Entertainment Gossip without the calories!_

Saturday 14th December

**_VIOLET SNOGS IN NIGHTCLUB!_**

Violet Hunter has been romantically linked with a Manchester businessman. The pair were seen having dinner together and later spotted holding hands at an inner city nightclub.

They were reportedly seen to be getting steamy in a private room at the club, which is managed by the businessman.

A rep for Hunter declined to comment.

o

**SNAPX MAGAZINE**  
Monday 16th December

**_VIOLET MOVES ON!_**

Rumours are spreading that the Improbity starlet has a new boyfriend after she was seen in the company of a Manchester nightclub manager. A source close to Violet Hunter has said, "The relationship is very new. They are hanging out a lot together and just enjoying each other's company."

Sources say she was seen getting comfy with the nightclub manager over the weekend. More than likely Hunter is just letting her hair down after ending her relationship with high-profile freelance detective with the London Metropolitan Police, Sherlock Holmes.

Violet Hunter is currently filming a romantic thriller with Ashendorf actor Alex Breville. Her previous film, Anuket's Children: The Rise of the Five is currently in post-production.

o

**HOT NOW MAGAZINE**  
Wednesday 18th December

**_VIOLET HAS A NEW BEAU  
IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS_**

"They've known each other for years and have only now started going on date-like activities," a source close to the Rise of the Five star has told us.

Fans have tweeted that they sat in the same train as the pair who were commuting between Manchester and London. "They mostly spent time on their own electronic devices and now and then they would share a kiss," one observer posted on their Tumblr site.

Dan Corlionne, a nightclub manager from Manchester, is the latest man in Violet Hunter's life. She recently split with her boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, ending their year long on-again off-again relationship when rumours surfaced about an alleged affair with her Rise of the Five co-star, American actor Joseph Irkhardt.

Hunter has refused to comment on her new beau, stating, "The more you share your relationship with the world, the less special it becomes."

Sources who spotted the new couple in a London restaurant said, "The couple were very affectionate and were constantly flirting. They looked like they were really into one another."

Corlionne admitted to a friend that they are officially dating.

Hunter was recently photographed leaving her inner London flat, looking radiant and smiling for photographers as she headed off to spend quality time with her new beau. A new love just in time for Christmas!

.

END OF PART THREE

~o0O0o~

* * *

**A/N:** writing this chap made me very sad. ): Your thoughts ?


	61. Chapter 61

**~ PART FOUR ~**

**Chapter 61**

**_Seven days before Christmas_**

Sherlock slowly wound his scarf around his neck. He tapped his coat pockets for his cigarettes and lighter and grabbed the roll of notes from the living room table. He thumbed through them, double-checking the balance then pocketed the roll as well. He slipped on his black gloves, his mind navigating his mental map, tracing the route from here, Baker Street to Whitechapel through the back streets of London and out of sight of the network of CCTV cameras.

He thundered downstairs, almost colliding with Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she cried in alarm. "I was just bringing you some supper."

The landlady held a tray, upon which a plate of something that had died a horrible death sprawled. Sherlock was in no hurry to solve that particular mystery.

"Leave it on the table, Mrs Hudson. I'll be back shortly. Don't wait up!"

He suspected he had left Mrs Hudson protesting in silence on the staircase, but he didn't have time to mollycoddle others - make them feel better about trying to make him feel better.

As he hailed a cab, his phone buzzed. _Third time this evening._ Without looking at the screen Sherlock concluded that it must be Mycroft again. _Yes I am coming home for Christmas dinner, Mycroft. Yes, I will shave._

* * *

"Nope, can't do it," Danny stated, flustered.

"I told you I'd do it."

Violet brushed his hand away. "Now watch carefully."

"Why should I watch when you can do it every time?"

"Perhaps one day when you're a grown up you'll have to tie it all by yourself."

Danny watched Violet in the reflection of her entranceway mirror. She adjusted the length around his neck, ensuring one side was longer than the other.

"That was my problem from the outset," he observed.

Violet gave Danny a look of exasperation as though he were a child. "You had more than one problem. Now loop the longer side over the shorter one."

"That's just like doing a tie."

"So you can put on a tie?"

"Sort of."

"And you call yourself a gangster," Violet said in a mock scolding voice.

"I've never called myself a gangster."

Violet continued her _how to tie a bow tie _tutorial, tucking the end under and pulling it through snug against Danny's throat. "Pull it tight, because you can't tighten it later."

"That was another problem I had."

"That was the easy bit. Bow tie's get trickier from here on in. You have to concentrate now."

Danny sighed.

Violet gave him a stern look. "And if I catch you looking at my breasts one more time I'll choke you with this."

"It's kind of hard because you left them out," he replied mischievously.

"Shut up!

Danny considered his next words carefully. "Did you have to do this for-"

"No," Violet answered swiftly, as if she had already anticipated the question.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Sherlock went to a private school anyway. They learn everything there, whether he liked to wear them or not. There," she said, admiring her handiwork.

She absentmindedly smoothed down Danny's lapels as well and tried to not feel emotional about the occasion.

Danny turned to look in the mirror and adjusted his bow tie. Violet stood just behind him to one side and smiled weakly at his reflection, "Thanks, Danny. I really appreciate you coming to this. It's a bit of a circus."

"Hey, don't mention it. I don't have to like the movie do I?" He frowned when he noticed that the offending accessory now hung crookedly.

Violet smiled then gently turned Danny so that he faced her again. She readjusted his bow tie and said, "It's not one of mine. You're under no obligation whatsoever."

"Well, the last time I saw a movie I was wearing jeans. This feels kinda odd," he smirked.

Violet finally stopped fiddling with the bow tie and said, "Premieres are a bit special. We don't have to go to the after party. Not if you have to leave early for Manchester tomorrow."

"We can go for a few minutes if you have to make an appearance?"

Violet regarded her own reflection in the mirror, flicking strands of hair back off her face then pulling them forward again as Danny watched her.

"No. I'm not associated with the movie, and however much the media wants to photograph Alex and I together, we're not joined at the hip. It's his last movie. I'm just shooting the next one with him." She turned to face Danny. "You don't mind if I don't come to Manchester with you, do you? I have to be on set tomorrow morming. I don't know why they schedule premieres for Wednesday nights. It's madness."

"Of course not. But I won't be back in London til Monday. That okay?"

Violet smiled at him. _He's so accommodating. Why can't he act selfishly for once. Just say 'I'm doing this, so get over it.' _"Yeah, that's fine. I think we're invited to a dinner or something. I'll check my schedule with Mandi."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'll get Mandi to email the events I need to go to."

"Thanks," Violet said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. She leant her head on his shoulder. "I didn't mean for you to be thrust into the spotlight so immediately."

"Don't worry about it," he said rubbing her back.

"Can you check on Riley while you're there?"

That horrible sickening feeling returned to Violet's stomach, rising into her throat and threatening to bring her to her knees again.

"Sure," Danny replied. "He's living back at home, but I can still check on him."

Violet pulled away from Danny and wiped her eyes. "He's still using."

"I know."

She turned away and said, deliberating changing the subject, "I'll just get my bag. Can you check if the car's here?"

"Violet."

"And I need my camera. It's charging in the kitchen," she called back over her shoulder.

She disappeared into the bedroom. Danny unplugged Violet's camera from the wall socket in the kitchen.

Violet contemplated her reflection in her dressing table mirror. Her hair stylist and make-up artist, Bonnie, had done an impeccable job as usual, but it wasn't her aesthetics that Violet was studying. She tried to look beyond her mascarra'd hazel eyes into the deadness behind them. The spark was gone - no life and no will in either heart or soul.

She blinked, the stark reality of her life forcing her to move and go through the motions once again.

"Thanks," she said, reappearing in the living room, and taking her camera from Danny.

"Violet, I'm sorry."

"Don't Danny," she said, stowing her camera into her bag and trying to avoid seeing Danny's look of remorse.

"If I'd found her earlier."

"Don't Danny, okay? It's not your fault."

"I would've worked out that Em shouldn't have been there."

"It's not your fault!" Violet exploded. "There's only one person responsible for her death and I'm going to make him pay!"

Danny waited for Violet's words to die away and sighed. "Do you think he still cares what you get up to?"

"Yes," she said defiantly.

Danny walked over to the window and looked out. "The car's here," he said.

Violet pushed everything else to the back of her mind, sealing off her emotions. "Let's do this then. Smile and wave, remember?"

* * *

Sherlock dropped his cigarette onto the pavement and trod on it. He then entered the curry house on Brick Lane, where the air was thick with the aromas of cumin, coriander and cardamon. Sherlock nodded to the attendant behind the counter and made his way out back through a doorway marked 'Staff Only' and into the kitchen. He continued through the kitchen and into a small office off to one side.

"Mr Holmes," greeted a man seated behind a shabby desk, a cigarette wedged between his lips.

"Mr Sullivan."

"The usual, Mr Holmes?"

"I'm going away, Mr Sullivan. I'll take double."

"You'll clear me out, Mr Holmes," Sullivan said, feigning disappointment.

"It's the holiday season."

"Are you going away for Christmas?" Sullivan asked, standing up and making his way over to a filing cabinet against the wall.

"A place in the Home Counties."

"Oh nice. With anyone special?" he asked conversationally.

"Family," Sherlock replied, daring to say the f-word he so despised.

"Then I guess you'll be needing all of this," laughed Sullivan.

"I think I will."

"Well, it's just like you ordered, Mr Holmes," Sullivan proudly announced. "As uncut as I can get it this far from Liverpool."

"You know I'll be checking," Sherlock responded firmly.

Sullivan rearranged his features in an effort to appear sincere. "Yes, Mr Holmes. But I can't get it for more than 60%."

"That's what you said about the 30% and the 10% before that, Mr Sullivan," Sherlock responded, his eyes twinkling dangerously.

"If you want purer than that, Mr Holmes, you're going to have to go to Spain yourself."

Sherlock's face took on a menacing look and his voice dropped to a dangerous level. "If I find this contains more benzocaine than cocaine I will be extracting your teeth using it."

"Er, you'll not find too much dentist's gear in that," Sullivan faltered.

Sherlock seemed satisfied with Sullivan's admission and exchanged his roll of banknotes with the small package Sullivan produced from amongst his files.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes."

"And a Happy New Year," Sherlock remarked, pocketing the package and striding out of the restaurant.

* * *

Danny squeezed Violet's hand in a casual gesture of affection. "Do we get popcorn?" he asked mischievously.

Violet smiled wanly and turned back to Danny as the private car sped toward The Empire.

"If you want."

She turned back to the window, lost in her own thoughts. _The world is still turning. Another premiere, another red carpet, more photos, smiles, the world watching. Watching me and waiting. Waiting for what? For me to fail? To be less than happy. Which reminds me..._

"How's Jake?" she asked.

"The same," came Danny's reply.

Violet's expression was one of concern. "So he won't talk to you about us?"

Violet studied Danny's face while waiting for his answer. He seemed to be searching for the right words. He eventually replied, "Look, he's not gonna be completely okay with this is he?"

"I'm just scared he'll do something...to you."

"But he didn't before did he? And now he has no claim over you, so..."

Violet looked back out of the window, as Danny continued. "Violet, I've known him since I was fifteen."

"He still may feel betrayed by you," she said in a small voice.

"I think deep down he only cares about your happiness," Danny replied tenderly.

_My happiness. What is that again? _"And I think Jake wanted to be the one to make me happy."

"Well, he missed his chance for that years ago, didn't he?"

* * *

**_Five days before Christmas_**

Sherlock hastily stowed the package into his coat pocket, then casually wrapped his scarf around his neck as his brother came into view on the staircase.

"Mycroft. I'm just on my way to St. Bart's," Sherlock said, hoping to dissuade Mycroft from speaking too much but not having a weight-loss insult on hand at that moment.

"My dear brother, I don't believe I've ever seen you looking so wretched."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow waiting for an explanation or a scathing comment which was Sherlock's usual retort to one of his statements of concern.

"Good."

"Try to attempt a level of grooming before Christmas? You don't want to upset Mummy."

"It wasn't me who upset her last time, Mycroft."

Sherlock pulled out his black gloves from his coat pocket as Mycroft repositioned his umbrella, prodding a different spot on the floor.

"Well, she's already finding the current circumstances...distressing - to say the least."

"What have you come here for, Mycroft?"

"No more progress on Irene Adler?" he asked, tilting his chin upwards in order to look down at his younger brother.

Sherlock donned his gloves. "None. But I suspect she's back in London."

"Why do you suspect that?"

"Because I received this in the mail."

Sherlock walked over to the living room table and held up a flyer. It was for a rave party in Brixton.

Mycroft gave Sherlock a withering look. "Just keep me informed, would you?"

He turned to leave and then stopped, examining Sherlock from head to toe. "And try to eat something. You look like you're using again."

It was a parting shot. _A good one though_, Sherlock thought as he waited until his brother's footsteps had died away and the sound of the front door closing signalled his exit.

Sherlock left the flat, but didn't immediately hail a cab. He liked to walk around the corner and browse the periodicals and gossip magazines from the newsstand first.

"Mornin' Mister 'olmes."

"Good morning, Phil. Just the Daily, thank you."

"She's innit again. En'ertainment section," Phil said, taking Sherlock's coins and handing him the paper.

"Thank you, Phil."

Sherlock strolled to the kerb and waved the folded up paper in the air, signalling the nearest taxi. He climbed in, directed the cabbie to take him to St Bart's then settled back, opening the paper to the entertainment section, and casting his eyes on the photo below the heading "Imbrobity stars grace the red carpet for the London premiere of The Esteemed."

Sherlock sighed.

_Stunning as usual._

_Blonde._

_Ridiculous hair thingies again._

_Where's Corlionne?_ He frowned, peering closely at the accompanying photograph of Violet standing with Alex Breville, her _Improbity_ co-star.

He spent the rest of the journey flicking back through the rest of the paper. In a city teeming with millions it was disappointing to not find a story hinting at an unsolved murder or mysterious disappearance.

Sherlock had to find other means to stimulate his cerebral cortex.

In his favourite laboratory at St Bart's he set to work. He positioned Violet's photograph from the newspaper next to him as he pulled out the package from his pocket. It wasn't that he particularly needed this photo. He had quite a collection of magazines on his desk and bookmarks on his computer back at the flat. And not to mention the recording of _that_ Skype call. It was simply that this one was the latest, the most recent in an inundation of photos and articles about Violet Hunter.

His Violet.

His thoughts and fantasies were soon interrupted by the arrival of Molly, carrying a number of files piled so high she could barely see over the top.

"Since 2001," she remarked, dumping the stack across from Sherlock.

"Oh, that's a lovely dress," she commented upon seeing the photo of Violet. "You don't mind reading about her?"

"Molly," Sherlock warned.

"She seems to suit that life better," Molly continued, walking over to Sherlock's side to read the article. "Not that she didn't..." she stammered.

Molly read in silence as Sherlock donned a pair of surgical gloves and opened the first bag. He started scooping the fine white powder into a specimen jar. After a while Sherlock could feel Molly's gaze upon him.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "And don't say fine. I know what it means when you say you're fine, but you're actually not."

"Molly."

"You remind me of Greg."

"Molly."

"He looked like that when he finally left his wife and she admitted to cheating on him with the P.E. teacher. He said he was fine because he didn't love her anymore more, but he was still hurt."

Sherlock looked over at the picture of Violet.

"You look hurt."

"I'm...fine," Sherlock replied, screwing the lid onto the jar.

"What's that? Is that street cocaine?" Molly said jokingly.

"I need its purity levels tested."

"Is that your D.O.C ?" she said still smiling awkwardly.

"D.O.C?"

"Drug of choice. For recreation."

Sherlock looked at Molly and spoke, barely suppressing the amusement in his voice. "You think I'm taking cocaine recreationally because I'm analysing a sample of it?"

"Well, we all do silly things when we've been dumped."

* * *

"Violet!"

Violet thanked the maitre d' and made her way over to Matt and Chenoa who were already seated in the middle of the restaurant. They each stood up to give her a hug before taking their seats again. A waiter came over to take their drinks order and Violet ordered a glass of chardonnay.

"Where's that handsome boyfriend of yours?" asked Matt.

"He had to go back to Manchester for the week."

"But he'll be back in time for Christmas?" Chenoa asked, concerned.

"Yep, Monday."

"That's cutting it a bit fine? Weren't you going somewhere?"

"Just a drive out into the country for Christmas Eve. We have to be back in Manchester for Christmas Day. Are you two still going to Leeds?"

"Change of plans," Matt said sadly. "Nathan and I have split up," he whispered quietly.

"What?"

"He just couldn't stand this Chenoa and I thing anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Matt."

"It's good for us though," Chenoa said, resting her hand on Matt's.

"You don't mean you two are really...?"

"Yes!" Chenoa beamed.

"Well, that's just really bizarre, but I'm happy for you!" Violet gushed.

* * *

JOHN: [ Stopping by with dinner. You home? ]

SHERLOCK: [ Yes ]

Sherlock sighed. John usually texts when he's in the cab, so I've got approximately twelve minutes. He checked his watch.

He walked over to the shelves behind Violet's/John's armchair, and reached for his favourite bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a glass, swiftly knocked it back, then poured another. He took one sip out of it, then placed it down on the table beside his armchair. He then grabbed his laptop and made himself comfortable in his chair.

As he heard John's footsteps on the stairs, he changed his mind and moved his drink to the side table nearest the fireplace.

"You eaten?" John asked as he strode in.

"You and Mrs Hudson should really create some kind of roster," Sherlock remarked.

"So you've eaten then?"

"No, but Mrs Hudson asks me the same question every night."

Exasperatedly John repeated, "So you _have_ eaten?"

"I said no."

"But you said Mrs Hudson asked?"

"And I gave her the same answer."

John breathed out and stared at the heavens. "I'll heat this up for you."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, tapping away at his computer.

"Mary's lamb stew."

"Mmm," Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows.

"How's ... things?" John asked after putting the dish into the microwave.

"Things are good," Sherlock replied.

John spied the glass next to Sherlock. He sighed once more. "A liquid dinner isn't very nutritional."

"Medicinal purposes, John," Sherlock answered, without looking up.

"Lost your razor I suppose?"

Sherlock scratched his stubble absentmindedly. "I shaved the other day."

John walked into the living room and sank into his chair. "You know...it's always good to...talk...about...how you're feeling. Sometimes."

Sherlock regarded John through narrow eyes. "And how are you feeling, John?"

"I'm talking about you and Violet."

"I know you are. But I'm not."

Sherlock grabbed the rest of his drink and knocked it back. The microwave beeped, breaking the silence.

John couldn't decide which was worse: the Sherlock who broke up with Violet last year - hell bent on destruction the swift way in binge drinking night after night in Poland; or this one - the slow path to self-annihilation through malnutrition and neglect.

And he couldn't understand their breakup in the first place. The press was saying Violet had an affair with her co-star. John couldn't believe that for a minute. Sherlock had briefly mentioned something about Violet's friend Emily dying. This was the same friend who had been threatened by that criminal mastermind - threatened to kill her if Sherlock didn't stop whatever he was doing. Did Sherlock continue interfering resulting in Violet's friend's death - an act Violet couldn't forgive him for?

Sherlock wouldn't say. He refused to talk about it, nor did he plea with John to help him make amends with Violet and get her back.

He'd just accepted it.

More or less.

* * *

**_Four days before Christmas_**

"And he has all the signs of being a commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous and slow."

Lestrade cocked one eyebrow, "For God's sake. If you're just making this up!"

Sherlock spoke rapid-fire to the detective inspector while pacing up and down near the unfortunate corpse and pointing. "Baggy grey trousers, not over-clean black coat, square piece of metal dangling as an ornament, beyond the obvious fact that he does manual labour, smokes weed, and has recently been to China. Oh, this is good," he remarked, rubbing his hands together. "Imports, lax legislation, dodgy contacts, wayward secretaries, bogus inspections, enthusiastic informants, constabulary on the take. There were clear signs, even you couldn't fail to see them, Detective Inspector!"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed as the Consulting Detective hopped over the muddy puddles and away from the crime scene.

Lestrade scratched his head and muttered to himself, "What the bloody hell was that?"

* * *

"They want me for Scarlett?" Violet asked, incredulously.

"No," Mandi replied. "Her best friend Dee. They've got Andrea Fabenaski for Scarlett."

"Oh."

Violet was slightly disappointed, but that scenario seemed more likely. She continued stirring her cup of soup.

Mandi continued. "So I'll tell Polly to put your name forward to the casting director?"

"And filming is in London?"

"Let me see...I may have mixed them up."

Mandi scrolled through her messages once more, then read from her notepad. "That's right. _Scarlett's Fables_ will be filmed in London. _When You Marry a Prince_ could be filmed in Paris. Oh! Please say yes to that one!"

"It sounds really...lame," 'Violet commented, walking over to the dining table where Mandi sat.

"It sounds like a fun movie!"

"I don't like these kinds of movies."

"No, you like boring dark ones with lots of dialogue."

"But in the _Scarlett_ movie I'll be playing the main character's best friend, and in _Marry a Prince_ I'll be playing one of many courtiers. It's not even worth my time."

"Well, what else have you got?"

Violet blew across her soup spoon and thought about her blank work schedule for the next six months.

"I like the sound of Sir Henry Masters' play."

"That's a play! My God, Vi! You're going backwards!"

"A West End part is hardly going backwards! This is what I use to dream about."

"I having a sneaking suspicion you just want to stay in London."

Violet took a sip of soup and grimaced. "Perhaps you're right."

Mandi sighed and then tapped away at her ipad.

"Is it Mr Corlionne who's keeping you here? I hope Danny isn't another one of those jealous types."

"Mandi."

"Well you haven't got a very good track record with Nick and then..._that man_."

"Mandi, give it a rest."

"And you can't even admit it to your best friend. Everyone else is saying you and Joseph Irkhardt got it on. Why can't you tell me?"

Violet stood up and took her cup of soup over to her fridge. "I have been telling you - it's not true. That's not why Sherlock and I broke up."

"No. It was those other fifty reasons why he was a lousy boyfriend that I warned you about weeks ago."

Violet placed her cup into the fridge, and then leant against the kitchen counter looking at Mandi.

"Can we just talk about my work? That's why you're here aren't you?"

"Right, well your next roles all depend on your taped auditions. I'll get Polly to organise that for _Scarlett's Fables._ Why you have to audition after _Rise of the Five_ I've no idea."

"Because I haven't portrayed a fucking ditsy comedic foil before," Violet replied irritably.

"When will we hear from Sir Henry Masters again?"

"I'm not sure," Violet thought, her stomach churning. It may never eventuate. How much influence did Jim Moriarty still have over her career?

* * *

**_Three days before Christmas_**

"Here," John said, striding into Sherlock's kitchen and placing an empty plastic specimen jar down in front of Sherlock with an audible tap.

"What's this for?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his microscope.

"What do you think it's for?"

Sherlock picked up the container, curling his fingers around it and holding it up to the light.

"Hmm," he began, narrowing his eyes at the jar. "Simple plastic container, screw top lid, usually for the purposes of collecting urine samples for urinalysis. Murder weapon?" he asked facetiously.

"I'd like a urine sample from you."

"Why? You're not my doctor, _Doctor_," Sherlock said, placing the container back down onto the table.

John set his jaw firmly, and resumed a military stance. "Greg asked me to."

"Why?" Sherlock asked arrogantly. "Am I out-performing Scotland Yard at their own game? Do they need to even the playing field?"

"I think you know why. Greg said you were unusually wired yesterday, and that combined with what Molly said you were analysing at the lab the day before..."

Sherlock leant back into his chair, keenly observing John's deductions.

"...and the fact that you have no appetite, and leave the flat once or twice a week at odd times..."

"Ah, Mrs Hudson."

"...and your general unkempt appearance," John finished.

"Good, John," Sherlock said patronisingly and rising out of his chair. "Nice observations. You probably missed everything of importance."

"Sherlock," John protested.

"No, this is good," Sherlock began.

He walked into his living room, deep in thought, his hands steepled over his lips.

"Am I to expect an intervention? That's what they call it don't they? A group of well-meaning acquaintances all showing up," he swept his hand demonstrably along the couch, "to tell me they _love_ me and are concerned for my well-being."

"Just a urine sample, Sherlock," John reiterated, following the Consulting Detective into the living room.

"And if I refuse?"

"Lestrade won't pull you onto any cases."

"His loss."

"Sherlock! Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm quite clearly _in_ my mind, John."

"I know how this works, you know. I have suffered losses myself before. The depression that-"

"I'm not depressed, John!"

John sighed. "But you're feeling something. This is different from before. From when you and Violet broke up last time, isn't it? She's...she's moved on."

Sherlock thrust his hands into his pockets and slowly walked over to the window. "I don't care about that," he said, without turning around.

"I think you do."

"So don't."

"Don't what?"

"Think."

"We do care about you, Sherlock. Me, Mary, Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson. We do care."

"I don't need you to care."

"We're your friends."

"Friends?" Sherlock repeated with distaste and glaring at John. "I don't have _friends_."

The words cut through John as was their intention. "Well you do, whether you like it or not. And we're not letting you go through this alone."

A dark shadow flickered across Sherlock's face as he turned back to the window. "Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

John studied his friend's profile, then took a step toward the door. He paused. "You can say these words all you like, Sherlock. You make it so bloody easy to walk out on you and never come back. But I won't. Because you need us and we'll keep coming back. _I'll_ keep coming back. I'll see you tomorrow."

"John-"

It was almost a plea, a cry for help. John waited for the rest of the request to come, but it was not forthcoming. Sherlock had uttered his name turning his head away from the window in John's direction as he spoke. Words failed him, for once. The words of emotion, of _feeling_.

He didn't need to say anymore. John got the message. Sherlock may have appreciated or even respected John's offer to be there for him if he needed help. But there was little to no chance of him asking for it. Despite that fact, John would be back every day.

* * *

"You'll be back late Monday?" Violet repeated into her phone. "Then you'll have to change the meeting time."

She listened to Danny, closing her eyes at his reassurances. _Really, he should've been a used car salesman. He always had something to say to make me feel better._

After her call to Danny had ended, Violet stretched out on her bed. She patted her stomach feeling guilty. She'd had an enormous meal with her dad and his girlfriend. They'd been disappointed at not getting to meet Danny. Her dad seemed happy Violet was doing well. Although he had finally come to respect Sherlock, he hinted that a Manchester businessman seemed to be a much safer choice in partner.

She rolled over and took another peek at the package that had arrived earlier that afternoon - something special from a sleepwear store on Saville Row. She had purchased it online a few weeks ago and it had arrived just in time for Christmas.

* * *

**_Two days before Christmas_**

"Are you sure nobody's following us?" Violet asked Danny, throwing a glance behind her through the rearview window. The line of cars following the same route had diminished considerably.

"I'm very skilled at this sort of thing," Danny replied confidently.

Perhaps it was true. Danny had made good speed, taking the A23 out of London, through Croydon before hooking onto the M25 in the direction of Leatherhead. In no time at all they would be somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Oxshott and Cobham.

"But what about bugs, or GPS trackers or something?"

"Violet, it's fine. Don't worry."

"Because there's more than one way to track a person."

"You've been watching too many movies."

"And you haven't been watching enough."

Danny reached across and squeezed Violet's hand. "It's all been taken care of. You have a lot of people working for you, you know."

Violet pulled her hand back from Danny and stared out of the window. "I just want it to be over," she commented in a small voice.

"I know. Don't we all."

She looked back at him. He was studying the road. "I'm sorry. I must sound really selfish."

He smiled at her. "It's for the greater good, isn't it?"

Violet's eyes stung with tears, which she angrily brushed away.

"It's okay to cry, you know," he said softly.

"No it's not!" she said vehemently. "It's fuckin' not! I'm not going to waste one fucking minute of the next twenty-four hours crying!"

"Don't waste it getting angry either," Danny said calmly.

Violet leant her head against the car window, and tried to laugh, while wiping away her tears again. Danny gently took her hand. "It's going to be okay, Violet. We're all working for you on this. Just be strong, okay?"

Violet sniffed as Danny continued to hold her hand.

"We're almost there," he said.

"How can you tell? I can't see a damn thing out there."

Violet peered into the darkness on either side of the car.

"I've been this way before."

Violet's stomach churned out of nervousness and excitement. They had veered off the highway some time ago to take the 'scenic route'.

"Please don't tell me there are bodies buried out here?"

Danny laughed. "We've just passed a golf course, Violet!"

"Are you carrying?" she asked curiously.

"Why do you ask?"

"I know Jake used to."

Danny's face hardened. "I'm not Jake."

They passed a sign advertising "Chester's Country Inn, 1km" which made Violet even more nervous.

"But I am, since you asked."

Violet wondered why she had to conjure up Jake's image at a time like this. Not happy memories of being with Jake - and anyway, those times were few and far between. Perhaps it was because there were so many times she had been driven somewhere by Danny: _to_ Jake, wondering what the night would end up like; or _from_ Jake, drunk, high, or even unconscious, bruised, beaten and broken. And Danny would be like this - solid, confident, happy and reassuring. _Everything will be okay tonight, Violet. He's not using any more._

Violet was silent again for a few minutes. "What time is it?" she asked eventually.

"Just about ten," Danny answered. "We made good time."

Violet wiped her eyes again. "Do I look okay?"

"No, you look like shit," he answered.

"Thank you."

"You shouldn't have worn make-up on an emotional night like tonight. It won't matter a bit though. You can get cleaned up at the inn. I've booked it for three days, because, you know, it tips into Christmas Day."

"Even though we won't be there?"

"Doesn't matter. This is it."

"You sure it's not called the Bates Hotel?" Violet commented, looking over at the quaint, but rundown Georgian building.

"C'mon! It's romantic! And anyway, it wasn't my choice. You stay here, while I get the key and find out what room number. They might recognise you. I'm sure they get Regency Road all the way out here."

Violet pulled her compact out of her bag and studied her face. Danny was right. Why bother with make-up? She pulled out a packet of make-up wipes and preceded to remove the remaining traces of it. Doing so in the car reminded her of removing her eyeliner that had smudged from tears so long ago, when she and Sherlock had reconciled. He had called her Christa. Violet struggled not to cry again.

A gentle tap at the window startled her.

"Sorry," Danny mouthed. Violet wound down the window so he could speak to her. "They're just running my credit card. The system's down at the moment. I've asked for the cottage right at the end where the outdoor lighting is broken. Can you see it?"

Violet looked over at the modest buildings jutting out from the main one. "No."

"Good."

Danny went back into reception while Violet nervously twisted her used make-up wipe.

_Why am I nervous? This is going to be wonderful. And just before Christmas too. I have to enjoy it and not get upset. Not once. Not for even for a second._

Danny returned to the car, and drove them the fifty metres around the corner, parking just outside the door of a detached cottage.

"Okay," he said, turning to her and grinning. "Seventeen minutes to go. That's plenty of time clean up and stop looking like a zombie."

"Fuck off, Danny."

"That's better. You sound like your old self now."

They climbed out of the car and Danny opened the boot pulling Violet's suitcase out. Violet examined the peeling paint on the cottage wall and sighed. _Lovely_.

"Coming?" he asked brightly.

Violet followed him inside. Danny flicked on the light switch near the door and the room was immediately illuminated by a dull glow from an incandescent globe in the middle of the ceiling.

"As per your request, Ms Hunter? One double bed and a..." he looked through a doorway, "...bathroom of sorts."

Violet sank onto the bed and sighed. Danny deposited her suitcase against the opposite wall then opened the door of the single closet.

"Just checking," he murmured.

"How about under the bed?" Violet asked, looking around at the meagre furnishings.

Danny chuckled, then dropped to his knees, lifting the thin bed covering.

"All clear," he said. "So.." he began, looking at Violet expectantly.

Violet stood up and hugged him. Her heart leapt for him. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered, fighting back tears for him. "Why do you always let me use you like this?"

"For all the times I drove you to..."

"That was your job."

"You know that wasn't always the right thing to do. Anyway," he said, brightening. "Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours of happiness."

He let her go and moved toward the door. "So I'll just..." he indicated the door with his thumb.

Violet nodded. "Thanks Danny."

"I'll just wait so you're not alone.'

Danny exited and shut the door behind him. Violet heard the sound of the car engine starting, and then the car idling. She went into the bathroom and washed her face again and patted it dry with the hotel towel. She lay down on the bed, her heart beating rapidly. She let out one shaky breath and then breathed in deeply, trying to make the next breath out as smooth as possible.

She closed her eyes, straining to listen for any other sound.

Twenty-four hours.

And then she heard it: the sound of another car approaching along the gravel carpark, the banging of car doors, male voices talking at a low volume, the sound of Danny's car pulling away, and the soft rapping of knuckles on the cottage door.

She sat up as the door slowly swung open.

She leapt up from the bed, rushing over to him and was in his arms in no time.

* * *

**.**

**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews! I'm being a bit mean and drawing this out a bit...


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N:** I forgot to acknowledge the lovely Gwilwillith for confirming the directions out of London in the previous chapter. Thank you, dear!

Sorry, these chapters are getting so long, so I'm giving you an Iced VoVo biscuit to go with your cup of tea and Tim Tam.

_You're welcome._

* * *

**Chapter 62**

**_Two days before Christmas_**

Once he'd shut the door behind him, he quickly discarded his scarf and then enveloped her in his arms. Violet sobbed his name, burying her face in his neck.

"Shh," Sherlock murmured, alternately rubbing her back and hooking his fingers into her clothing. "I'm not going to let you go," he murmured.

They remained that way for some time, wordlessly clinging to each other, breathing each other in and with no desire to separate. Their bodies reacted automatically and instinctively and they folded into one another perfectly.

Eventually Sherlock ran his hand up along Violet's spine, stopping at the nape of her neck and tangling into her hair. Violet drew back to look at him, bringing her hand up to his cheek.

"You're all bristly," she said, gently caressing his face from cheek to jawline.

"And you have a dead person's hair," he remarked, a sly grin spreading across his face.

He then gazed down at Violet intently, steel grey eyes meeting warm hazel. He observed her eyes darkening as her pupils dilated in the incandescent light. As if that were the evidence he was waiting for, he slowly narrowed the gap between them and brushed a light kiss against her lips. It had been a while, and although they had exchanged so many kisses before this one, it was as if this was their first kiss all over again. Careful and tentative.

Violet's lips were soft and yielded to the flicker of Sherlock's tongue. Warm and moist and so full of promise of more to come. She reciprocated, then huffed a short breath out, stifling a giggle.

"Scratchy," she murmured as they drew apart.

Sherlock raked his hand over his jaw. "I was in a bit of a rush to get out here in time. Do you want me to shave now?"

"No, I want you," Violet answered hurriedly. She grabbed his lapels and pulled Sherlock toward the bed. "And I can't wait any longer," she said breathlessly.

"Neither can I," Sherlock rasped, shedding his coat and his jacket in once swift movement. "I'd probably rush the job anyway, and end up cutting my-"

He didn't finish as Violet's mouth claimed his again, cutting off his words. Sometimes Sherlock just spoke too damn much.

Their fingers fumbled and got in each other's way undoing Sherlock's shirt buttons, so Sherlock abandoned his attempt in favour of sliding Violet's shirt over her head. It's difficult to unclasp your lover's bra when they're trying to pull your shirt from your arms, and impatience was no great help either.

"Why weren't you already lying in bed naked?" Sherlock said in frustration as he stopped to unbutton his cuffs.

"At least I took my jacket off. It felt odd to take off any more with Danny outside, and I was nervous that you wouldn't show," Violet answered, shedding her bra.

Sherlock gave Violet a condescending look. "Me not show?"

"Well, the roads were all wet and the rain and..."

"We're not talking about the weather right now," Sherlock interrupted her, pulling her back into his embrace.

They kissed again, both shirtless, but both impatient to be pressed against one another once more without the added chore of removing more clothing. They tasted one another and teased each other with their lips and tongues, then Sherlock left off kissing Violet, letting his mouth glide over her neck while she impatiently grasped his belt buckle, unfastening it. She giggled again.

"Oh God, that's so ticklish," she whispered, hunching her shoulders.

Sherlock tutted. "I'll shave."

"No!"

Violet backed onto the bed tugging on Sherlock's waistband encouragingly. She lay down as Sherlock kicked off his trousers and slid off his underwear before joining her. Annoyingly, for him, she was still clothed from the waist down.

"What are you playing at?" he asked in irritation. "Skirt, stockings, boots, for Christ's sake. We haven't got all day, you know."

"Taking them off is your job. And we have got all day. One day in fact." She raised one leg into the air.

"Well I want to get my money's worth," he muttered, pulling off her boot. "Other leg."

She watched his face: brow furrowed deep in concentration and determination as though he were methodically picking out evidence from a crime scene. Except now that level of focus was upon her, and the removal of her clothes as if she were a petulant child refusing to have a bath. He removed her second boot then slid his hands up to the top of her stockings and tugged lightly.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing. Keep going."

He slipped off her stockings and underwear while Violet reached behind her back and unzipped her skirt. Sherlock gently eased it from her as his eyes drifted over her naked body. He breathed out slowly as he gently lowered himself onto her, the heat from his body warming her. Leaning up on his elbows he whispered, "I've missed you." His voice was low and hoarse and unused to saying much with feeling these last few weeks.

But those silver eyes glistened not with cold ice, but warmth and meaning. The thought that Sherlock had not spent his days dismissing Violet's absence as an irritation but an ache to be acknowledged and examined at some stage made Violet falter.

She wasn't supposed to cry for the next twenty-four hours.

"I'm not going to cry," Violet whispered, speaking aloud her new mantra, as her tears betrayed her.

"Shh," Sherlock said, gently kissing her cheek.

"I can't do this anymore, Sherlock."

"You can," he said, kissing her other cheek. "It will all be over soon."

He kissed her neck before grazing her ear, and finally kissing her mouth, stifling any more protests on her part. Violet wound her arms around his neck kissing him back before he slid into her, causing her to arch her back.

The romance and sentiment were temporarily shelved for now, replaced with pure carnal lust for each other as they acted out the scene they improvised so well.

Violet shivered at Sherlock's touch, nerves electrified.

"Sherlock!" she gasped.

He continued a steady rhythm into her, not wanting it to end too quickly. His senses were too heightened also and he slipped out of her again, to concentrate solely on her needs for a while. His capable fingers and clever tongue once again brought her to the brink, and he timed it perfectly. Thrusting into her while she moaned for him brought him to his own climax just as hers reached its peak.

Sherlock remained on top of Violet as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him there. He dropped his head into her shoulder, turning slightly and giving her a soft kiss on the side of her neck. His breath cooled her there, and when he nuzzled in closer, Violet dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Your stubble! What's with that!"

Sherlock rolled off to one side, and Violet turned, facing him.

"It's all a part of my wretched look, as Mycroft called me.'

"Why are you wretched?"

"Broken heart, remember? You did it."

Violet reached over and ran a finger lightly over Sherlock's jaw. "I don't think I've ever seen you unshaven before."

"No. It's extremely irritating. To start with, I missed one day of shaving. Over the last few weeks I've increased it to four."

Sherlock scratched his neck as the power of suggestion reminded him of the discomfort he felt for his regrowth.

Violet lightly ran a finger over Sherlock's faintly forming moustache. "Wow."

"You don't sound very impressed."

She drew her hand back and held his gaze. "I just never pictured you as a method actor."

"I don't know what that is, but yes, I am taking playing pretend to new heights."

"Speaking of heights: how's the cocaine habit coming along?"

Sherlock lifted his hand to cup Violet's face, his thumb gently caressing the smoothness of her cheek which was now slightly flushed from their recent exertions.

"I've spent quite a few hundred pounds feeding my habit." He grinned mischievously. "I've turned it into a little game for myself."

Violet frowned. "Not the snorting it up your left nostril kind of game is it?"

Sherlock's hand drifted down to rest on the side of Violet's neck. He gently brushed her hair aside. "I've never used it nasally or orally. I've only ever used cocaine intravenously."

"Of course you did. Why didn't you just snort it like a regular junkie?"

"Snorting is what John does when he laughs."

Violet started giggling, prompting Sherlock to laugh a low rumble along with her. She leaned in and kissed the side of his broad grin, bringing her fingers up to weave into his curls. Sherlock shifted slightly, using his lips to capture hers, parting them and deepening their kiss. He hummed in satisfaction before allowing Violet to draw back.

Violet's face was one of concern as she asked, "Did you just dump it after you purchased it?"

"No, I've decided to put it to good use by testing its purity levels before I flush it down the toilet."

"Oh. And why is that a little game?"

Sherlock rolled onto his back but gently reached for Violet's hand, guiding it to rest on his chest, interlacing his fingers with hers. "I'm trying to get my dealer to give me ever increasing levels of pure cocaine." He continued talking while caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Unfortunately, it's already cut before it even lands on British soil. The purest I've had has been sixty percent. Most cocaine on the street is about ten to thirty percent these days."

Violet leant up on her elbow, shifting closer to Sherlock before resting her head onto his chest. "What's it cut with?"

"Caffeine and dental anaesthetic."

"That's harsh. I don't want to imagine what heroin is cut with these days."

"I think I'm going to have to give it up."

"Why?"

"I've been busted."

"What?" Violet sat up, turning to face Sherlock, her eyes widening in alarm.

"No, no , no, not by the drug squad," he reassured her. "By our little posse of well-meaning friends."

And when Violet looked at him quizzically Sherlock continued, "I happened to attend a crime scene earlier this week wearing no less than four nicotine patches - two on each arm."

Violet tutted and Sherlock grinned sheepishly. "I was a bit over-stimulated. Even Lestrade noticed. And then the next day Molly saw me testing the narcotic in the lab."

His expression changed to one of exasperation. "Clearly Molly and the Detective Inspector include talking about me and my funny little ways in their post-coital conversations, as the next minute I've got John around the flat insisting I give him a urine sample."

Violet laughed. "Oh my God! So they put two and two together..."

"And came up with five," Sherlock finished.

"Oh no, poor John!"

Sherlock wrapped an arm around Violet and tenderly caressed her bare back. "I know. I almost told him."

"You did?"

Violet lowered herself back down to Sherlock's chest, resting her chin there and looking up at him. He continued to slowly rub her back and sighed.

"Violet, I didn't realise how much of an impact my...supposed misery would have on him. I wanted him to be concerned of course, and Mrs Hudson too, so I could keep them close."

"In case of Jim," Violet murmured.

"Yes. But he's fussing around me more than I thought he would."

"So why don't you just tell him the truth?"

"I don't think he'll be very forgiving."

"Probably best to tell him sooner rather than later."

Sherlock considered Violet's words. He gave her a half smile. John would naturally be angry. It was a question of trust, he'd say. Sherlock didn't trust him. But it wasn't that. Sherlock had already weighed this decision over in his mind several times since the beginning of their ruse. His theory was that John's reaction and concern for Sherlock over the break-up would serve to not only feed back to the world at large the devastating impact their split had made on Sherlock, but would also make him visit Sherlock more often, thus allowing the detective to keep a closer eye on John should Moriarty choose his former flatmate as his next target.

Sherlock knew the truth would come out eventually, and had avoided contemplating the nature of John's reaction until now.

Violet had also been meditating on this fact. She slid her body closer to Sherlock and nuzzled into his neck murmuring, "Let's run away together."

Sherlock patted Violet's hand affectionately. "That won't bode well with our loved ones."

_Run away together. _He had longed for that option not too long ago under much more happier circumstances. The words were on the tip of his tongue once again. _Will you marry me, Violet?_ He'd often thought of those words - the proposal that had become lost in the drama that had unfolded. His first step, to enlist Mary, his would-be accomplice, had fallen by the wayside. The nightmare had commenced almost as soon as he had shaken the last remnants of jetlag upon arriving in London over a month ago. The short-list of jewellers had faded from his mind. Even the irritation of the ritual of weddings would now be welcome if that were his only obstacle.

And if he asked her now, it would be cruel - to add that to her list of things that were out of reach.

He kissed the top of Violet's head as if to punctuate the end of their conversation and shifted underneath her slightly, prompting Violet to sit up once more. Sherlock climbed out of bed saying, "I have to shave before we go. Do you want to have a shower?"

"Not here. I'll just get dressed."

She rose from the bed, but then paused. "Oh Sherlock," Violet fretted, running her eyes over Sherlock's rail thin body. "What are you doing to yourself?"

"What?" he asked as he stood by the bed.

Violet walked over to him and ran her hand along his arm. "I can count your ribs," she said in despair. "Why aren't you eating?"

Sherlock bent down to pick up his underwear. "You know I can't eat when I'm working on a case."

"Case?"

Sherlock looked at Violet in surprise. "_The_ case. _Our_ case."

He stepped into his boxers as Violet asked, incredulously, "So you haven't be eating in over a month?"

"Barely. Look, don't worry about it."

He stooped again to retrieve his trousers, picking up Violet's knickers as well which had landed on top of them at some stage.

"Don't worry about it? You'll be dead before we're done! Sherlock!"

Sherlock handed Violet her underwear as he said, "Looks like you've lost five pounds yourself."

Violet scowled and pulled on her knickers. "That's just in muscle tone. I don't have to work out as much as I did for _Rise of the Five._ Sherlock. This is serious. You have to eat!"

Sherlock shook out his trousers then stepped into them. "You didn't notice the other week," he said dismissively.

"I couldn't see. It was too dark. Please eat."

Sherlock zipped up his fly and regarded the mostly naked movie starlet in front of him. "I will. Just don't worry about it."

"Of course I'm going to worry."

Violet took a step closer to Sherlock, slipping her arms around his waist and looking up at him, noticing more clearly the angular lines on his face, his sharp collar bone and when she dipped her hands into his waistband she felt how loose his trousers were.

"Sherlock," she whispered in exasperation.

"Let's promise not to argue okay?" he asked solemnly, looking down at her. "For a whole day. This will be the longest amount of time we'll get to spend with each other since we were in Sydney. So let's enjoy it."

Violet sighed.

_Sydney._

* * *

**_Five weeks ago_**

Violet's phone clattered to the ground.

_Oh God, this wasn't happening._

_Emily._

_Oh Sherlock. What have you done?_

The rest of the world disappeared at that moment. The set, the production assistants, the 3rd AD who was standing by to call her to set again, Emma and Erin who were hovering to take away the shine and tame loose strands, and Mandi...wondering why on earth Violet would drop her phone.

Their voices made no sense.

She hadn't fainted nor had she fallen. Blood drained from her face and Emma hastily helped her back into her director's chair where'd she'd been sitting moments earlier. Violet's later impression of this incident was dreamlike at best. Calls and whispers of heat exhaustion, low blood pressure, anxiety attack, fainting spell, dehydration all buzzed around her in turn. She had a faint recollection of being lain down somewhere cool, of paramedics fastening a blood pressure bandage to her upper arm, being brought water, a lemonade lolly ice, a cool cloth.

And she responded automatically to them all. _Yes, I'll lie down, yes I need water, yes lemonade will do_, but all the while thinking, _Emily is dead. It's started._ It had struck Violet that the very thing she feared would happen had come true. There had been no warning.

But Sherlock?

He had promised not to do anything. Were they just empty words? Could his words mean nothing if there was a case to solve? He always knew best. _Trust me_, he'd said. _I know better than you_, is what he meant.

_Emily was dead._

_Sherlock has betrayed me._

_Jim Moriarty had Emily killed._

_Sherlock ignored my pleas to do nothing._

_Emily died from a drug overdose._

_Sherlock didn't care enough._

When the paramedics and studio medical officer all declared Violet was fine, she was ordered to return to her hotel for the remainder of the day to rest. Her minor scene would be shot the next day. Violet, in a panic for her friend's safety, begged Mandi to come with her, not that Mandi hadn't intended to accompany her.

"Ring Sherlock," was Violet's order to Mandi, when she couldn't get through herself.

"It's still too early," Mandi had said. "He wouldn't be awake yet."

"Keep trying," Violet had replied in desperation.

She paced her hotel room, wringing her hands, driving Mandi to distraction because she wouldn't tell her friend what was going on, nor would she lie down.

They had an enormous shouting match because Mandi didn't want Violet to call _that man _if whatever he'd done had upset her so much. Violet finally relented and lay down in her room, with Mandi ringing Sherlock only once more, not on a continual loop like Violet had instructed.

When Sherlock finally called back, Mandi answered the phone with, "I don't know what you've done, Mister Arrogant Asshole, but you'd better not-"

During which time Violet, hearing her ring tone, had raced from her room and torn the phone from Mandi's grasp. She returned to her room, amid Mandi's calls of "Dump the bastard!"

"Sherlock," she sobbed.

Sherlock's voice was low and even. "Violet. I know. Dan called me. I'm-"

"What did you do?"

"-sorry."

"What did you do?" she implored him.

Sherlock paused before answering, "Nothing."

Sherlock couldn't convince Violet that he'd taken no action; he'd barely just landed in London and slept off the jetlag.

"Violet, let's skype," he suggested, his voice remaining calm and soothing.

Violet ended the call and went back out to the living area to retrieve her laptop.

"What?" Mandi asked, crossing her arms.

"Just stay here, okay?" Violet pleaded with her. "I just have to talk this over with Sherlock. But please stay."

She returned to her room once more, and waited while her laptop started up.

_What could he say?_ she thought. How can he weasel his way out of this? Emily was dead. There was no other result more final than that. It wasn't like the bitter disappointment he felt at letting child sex traders escape only to later have a chance of capturing them. Emily was dead. If he'd made a mistake there was no rectifying it this time.

As soon as Violet's laptop came to life Sherlock called her. He was sitting at his living room table when she answered.

"Violet, this is what I know. Dan phoned me. He received a call from Riley. He'd being staying with Emily in a flat in Chorlton. Her friend Owen had set them up with some gear. He said Emily had been speedballing lately..."

"Oh God, no."

"Owen had left them to it. Riley said when he woke up the next morning Emily was still conscious, but barely lucid. He panicked and called his parents. They drove around to get him and he pleaded with them to take her back to their place. He said she just needed to sleep it off. She died of respiratory failure at their home."

Violet listened to all of this with her face in her hands. Sherlock watched her, wanting to reach out to her, to comfort her.

"Violet."

She wiped her face, but still didn't say anything.

"Violet. It may have just been an accident."

_She's survived for years on dirty needles, fucking her landlord and sucking cock for city businessman, and now, when she's living it up with Jim Moriarty's henchman in a comfy flat in fucking Chorlton, she just has an accident?_

"I don't believe that," Violet said hoarsely, slowly looking up at Sherlock through reddened, tear-stained eyes. "What did you do?"

Sherlock leant forward. He was resting his elbows on his knees and looking up at the web cam. "Violet, nothing. I've barely been back in London. I gave you my word - I wouldn't take any action. I said that and I meant it."

Violet was bewildered. "Then something's happened. Something you were working on before, when Irene Adler was here."

"The thought occurred to me as well. I left a message for Mycroft to ring and he phoned back just before I called you. They haven't had any contact with Ms Adler. There have been no new leads; no breaking up of criminal networks either here or abroad, not since Germany and Luxembourg."

"Then why would he...why would he just do this?"

Sherlock had tried to remain calm and patient up until now, for Violet's sake. But he was beginning to become irritated at the speed with which she imparted vital information and her reluctance in doing so. If she were anyone else he would have yelled at them by now then requested a paper bag for them to breathe into. "You have to tell me who he is."

"No!"

Violet couldn't believe Sherlock would be pushing her for this information again at a time like this.

"Then how can I get inside his mind - stay one step ahead of him?"

_You arrogant prick_, she thought, but said, "He doesn't want you to investigate him. He wants to be left alone, he said. He has to be left to continue."

Sherlock turned his head slightly to one side. "Continue what?"

Violet sighed. It was all coming out now. "His normal life."

"He has a normal life other than a criminal one?" he pressed. "What does that mean?"

Violet sat up a bit straighter, choosing her words carefully. "If you investigate him, he'll take it personally he said."

"So I can't investigate someone I don't know," Sherlock summarised.

"Yes."

"Then how can I not investigate someone I don't know to not investigate?"

_Here it comes,_ Violet thought. _He's going to confuse me with his postulations._ "What?"

Sherlock leaned back into his chair, crossing one arm over his chest and propping the other up so he could brush his fingers over his lips as he mused. "I research people all the time, Violet. It's my job. And sometimes it's just my hobby."

"Hobby?"

"I've been researching everybody you work with, just to make sure, you know, they're not seedy or anything."

Violet frowned. "Like when you googled Joseph Irkhardt?"

"Sort of."

"So you googled...who?"

"Damien Oakeshott, Justin Behme..." Sherlock gestured dismissively as he spoke their names.

"My directors?" Violet asked, a lump forming in her throat.

"Yes. But Mycroft said I was wasting my time."

The name echoed in Violet's head. "Mycroft?"

"I referred them to him. His people can do more extensive research," he replied with distaste.

"Sherlock..."

"And just the other day I had him investigate Max Burnott and James Moriarty," he added casually.

The name uttered by Sherlock struck Violet like a knife. She gasped and froze, a reaction which did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"Violet?" he asked, sitting up and leaning forward.

"No," she whispered.

Sherlock breathed out and hung his head for a moment. All the pieces had fallen into place. He looked up to see Violet holding her head in her hands.

His voice dropped an octave as he repeated, "James Moriarty."

Violet let out a whimper but did not look up.

Sherlock rose out of his chair and started pacing. "Jim Moriarty, the Chief Operating Officer of the studio," he said carefully. "You had lunch with him in New York."

Violet looked up again, her eyes following Sherlock across the screen. "Yes," she confirmed.

Sherlock kept moving, throwing a glance in Violet's direction. "Did you know who he was then?"

"No."

He folded his hands behind his back as he paced. "And he met with you in Australia?"

"Yes - on three separate occasions, and then on the fourth he...he made his threats."

Sherlock didn't react to the emotion in Violet's voice and pressed on. "But during the first three there was no hint of criminal behaviour?"

Violet tried to recall the 'normal' conversations. But they weren't all tame were they? They had left her feeling odd.

Violet had a question of her own. "What did you find out about him?"

Sherlock continued pacing, about-facing every few steps. It took a second or two before Violet's request registered in his brain, interrupting his own flow of thoughts. "Nothing yet. I left it with Mycroft. He hadn't been giving my requests much consideration these days. But his people must have started probing just now for Moriarty to get a sense that I was investigating him. I'd better visit my brother."

Sherlock started tapping away at his phone as Violet watched and hugged her knees.

"Right. That should get his attention," he said, pressing send.

Sherlock sat back down at the table and looked earnestly into the web cam. "Violet, I need you to tell me everything you know about Moriarty. Every conversation you had, what he ordered to drink, what he wore, how many times he scratched his head, what words he used. Everything, even if you don't think it's important - from the first three seemingly benign conversations to the last. Don't leave anything out."

He stared into the camera so intently that Violet lowered her head, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Take your time," he said softly, and then when Violet took in a deep breath he added, "But quite quickly."

Violet began, slowly at first, and heavily prompted by Sherlock. By the second meeting in Australia, her recall flowed much more easily, so Sherlock was mostly silent. He became more agitated and began pacing again when Violet described the final meeting.

"I need to think," he said, rubbing one hand through the back of his hair. "Don't say anything, don't even breathe."

Violet stared at her screen, transfixed by Sherlock for several minutes as he alternately paced around his living room, or froze, mid-step. A huge weight had been lifted from her. Sherlock was on the case. Everything would be fine now.

"I need to hear it again,' he said, finally.

"You want me to say it all again?" Violet asked, bewildered.

"No. I recorded you. I'm going to play it back. Why don't you get a cup of tea or something. I'll ring you back," he said, distractedly.

"No Sherlock. I want to stay with you."

If Sherlock hung up, Violet would be left alone again in her own thoughts, and she didn't want that.

He looked slightly put out. "Just get a cup of tea then. Leave the Skype window open, but don't speak."

Violet got up and opened her door a little. Mandi was sitting on the sofa using her ipad and looked up at Violet.

"Can you bring me a cup of tea please, Mandi?" Violet asked softly.

"Have you finished talking to Sherlock?" Mandi asked, rising from the sofa.

"No. We're still sorting something out."

Mandi rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, when you've got a moment, I have something to discuss with you."

"What?"

"Camryn Sayer is no longer doing _Imbrobity_. They want you again! Polly can negotiate a good deal for you. You have to say yes!"

"Um, Mandi, not now. I can't think about that. Can you just get the tea? Thanks."

She closed the door and sat back down on her bed, curling her legs underneath her. Sherlock was pacing again and she could hear her own voice recalling the meetings with Moriarty.

Once the recording had finished, he stopped pacing and turned the laptop so that it faced the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He sat down in his, bringing his hands together underneath his chin.

"Null and void," he whispered.

"What?" Violet asked.

But Sherlock remained silent for another full minute. Violet didn't dare interrupt him, but her heart beat wildly all the same.

"He's made a mistake, Violet, don't you see?" Sherlock said suddenly, rising out of his chair again. He made his way over to the table, picked up his computer and settled into his armchair once more.

"His information was false," he continued. "He wasn't very thorough. He thought I was investigating him because I'd found out his identity. Careless." He almost grinned behind his steepled hands.

"Emily is dead," Violet said softly, in case Sherlock hadn't made the connection that someone's 'mistake' had cost her friend her life.

"He's not as clever as you think," he murmured. "There's no way round it. We have to break up," he said, more to himself than Violet.

"What?" Violet asked in a panic, more so for the casual way he had spoken.

"Null and void," he said. "It's all null and void if we break up. He can't use you to get at me. He said those words."

"Sherlock."

Violet didn't like where this was heading.

"You warned me not to do anything and I ignored you. You can never forgive me for allowing your friend to die."

"But you didn't do-"

"That's what we want him to think, Violet," Sherlock interrupted her.

Violet couldn't bear to be apart from Sherlock again. "Sherlock, please."

Mandi opened the door at that moment, bringing in Violet's tea. Upon hearing Violet's plea she threw an angry look at the screen.

"Can I talk to you?" Mandi asked.

"Not now Mandi!"

Violet really didn't want to yell at Mandi; didn't want to upset her and have her leave the hotel room and end up spending the night with Paul.

"Just give us a minute, please."

"I still have Polly waiting to hear from you. You're in a really good position to negotiate for your role in _Imbrobity_. Can't you just think about yourself for once and not what _he_ wants!"

"Not now, Mandi!"

Mandi walked over to the bed where Violet sat with her computer and slammed the lid down.

"Mandi!"

Mandi sat on the bed in front of her and said sternly, "Violet Hunter, if you let _that man_ control your life you won't have a career left. Everyone is saying this is the perfect role for you. It shows versatility, it keeps you in the public eye, and it'll save you if _Arthur Avenue_ doesn't go ahead."

"Who said that?"

"Polly and your New York agent have been talking. They need a few more generous donations for _Arthur Avenue,_ and if you don't put yourself out there, no one will care if the movie goes ahead or not. So get over whatever this little lover's tiff is and take control of your career."

Mandi stood up and gave Violet one more meaningful glare. "I'm ringing Polly back in five minutes, so I want an answer then, and it better be 'yes'."

Mandi slammed the door behind her. Violet closed her eyes and breathed out. _Give me strength_, she pleaded, then slowly lifted the lid of her laptop again to find Sherlock still there and grinning. "She's finally earning her keep."

"Sherlock," Violet sighed. She had no energy left to fight.

"Do everything she says. She's right for once," Sherlock said carefully. "Break up with me and take the role."

"No," Violet said quietly. Her life was no longer under her control it seemed.

"Violet. This is the only way to save them, Matt and Mandi. It starts now. Take it one step at a time. Break up with me now. Accept the role. You'll need something to keep you busy anyway. Finish up in Australia this week, then come back to London. You'll have to move out."

Violet couldn't believe this. "Sherlock, no!" she gasped.

"You can't stay. You won't be able to stand the sight of me."

"Stop saying that!"

"You're an actor. So act!"

Sherlock's face filled her screen as he moved closer. He was being brutal. He needed to put everything in motion fairly quickly, but he'd forgotten that Violet needed time. She still had to register fully that her friend had died. She still had to go through a whole cycle of grieving before she could function properly, but they didn't have the luxury of months or years, or however long people needed. He needed her to put aside her emotions just for the moment; like he was doing.

His face softened as he spoke. "Violet, I love you. Don't ever forget that. This won't go on forever. Let me do what I do best. It's only an illusion; a magic trick. Tell Mandi we've broken up. In fact tell anyone who'll listen: I'm a controlling, jealous boyfriend. The internet was right all along. And you've had enough."

Violet couldn't breathe. It was all falling apart. Her neat little world. "No, Sherlock. I can't."

"One step at a time. Violet. You can do this. You're strong. Do this for Mandi and Matt. Remember what you did for Emily? You took on that landlord. You took on Sebastian Moran. This is easy. This is your greatest role yet: breaking up with a boyfriend who's an asshole and a prick. You once said you're living your life in the public eye. What better way to show Moriarty the end result of his threat."

"Sherlock."

"And we have the best co-conspirator."

"Who?" she asked weakly.

"The press."

Sherlock was moving too fast for her. Emily was dead, and Violet hadn't got beyond that emotion yet. "I don't want to talk to the press about us," she said in a hollow voice.

"You don't have to. Surround yourself with people who will though. Mandi will happily tell anyone what an asshole I am. There's Alice, and that hair-stylist you took to Cardiff. She was always online."

"Bonnie."

_Bonnie tweets. _Violet thought._ Mandi talks to Alice, who also tweets and frequents gossip sites._

"I love you," he said again, and then he glanced at his watch. _Must talk to Mycroft._

"I love you, too," she answered automatically. But her mind wouldn't shift into gear. Sherlock had made this decision all too fast for her.

"When you come back to Baker Street to get your things we'll talk some more okay? It's going to be all right."

"Sherlock."

She had to stall him.

"It will be all right," he said again.

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

"No, Violet."

"I love you." _Please don't do this to us._

"Don't call or text until you get back into London. Call me only when you want to pick up your things. I love you, too."

"Sherlock."

"Go tell Mandi, now. Goodbye Violet."

"Sherlock."

But he ended the call. Abruptly, on purpose, she suspected.

A cold hand wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She gasped, and the tears came flowing. She couldn't do this, no matter what he said. She wasn't strong enough. This hurt too much.

"Violet?"

Mandi opened the door again. "Vi?"

"Go away," Violet said faintly, her head on her hands.

"Oh, Vi. Did you and Sherlock break up?"

And there it was - the words which would be said over and over again, all around the world until they came back to Violet and they became just words. The words of a script.

During the rest of the week, Violet was on auto-pilot. The scenes were minor, and if anyone out there in the industry was scrutinising Violet's performance, they would've said she'd phoned it in. She was completely disconnected from what was going on in front of her, and what was going on inside her.

Didn't they say that some of the most stressful events in life included: the death of someone close, a break up, moving residence, and losing your job. _I think imprisonment is another one,_ Violet thought. _And I'm feeling particularly murderous these days._

Violet, Emily and Riley had never tried speedballing when they had lived together. It was hard enough funding an addiction to heroin let alone both smack and crack together. Emily had died of respiratory failure, which meant the dose of heroin was too high. If it was the other way around, too much cocaine, she would've suffered a heart attack. The effects of both narcotics cancelled out the negative side-effects of the other, enhancing the overall high. Whoever Owen was, he knew what he was doing. Had to. And when Sherlock had finished bringing down Jim Moriarty, Violet would personally seek out Owen WhateverHisNameWas and castrate him herself.

During the rest of her stay in Sydney, Violet composed several text messages to Sherlock, deleting each one before she could hit Send. She missed him even more than ever, since she wasn't allowed to love him, at least according to the rest of the world.

At the end of a take one afternoon, Joseph Irkhardt stood off to one side with Violet.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"It wasn't me was it?"

"It was a lot of things, but no, it wasn't you."

"Good. I'm an asshole, but I've never broken up someone else's relationship."

"Good for you," Violet replied, giving him a fake smile. _Way to make this about you, Joe._

Violet was able to convince Mandi that they should fly back to the UK, skipping the wrap party on the weekend because apparently Sherlock would be away, she lied, and that would be the best time to move her things out of Baker Street. Mandi had found a nice little flat for her in Chelsea. Violet suggested that she and Mandi shouldn't flat share since they had to work together as well. Mandi was going to move in with Alice, which Violet thought was a perfect arrangement for feeding misinformation to the press.

Skipping the wrap party served another purpose. If Jim Moriarty was there on the arm of Alissen King, Violet didn't know if she was capable of stopping herself from driving a cocktail fork into his throat.

Especially if she'd had a few.

Violet's feet had barely touched Heathrow when she immediately sent Sherlock a message. Not knowing whether it could be intercepted or not, it simply read, "Need to get my things out of the flat. Let me know when you're not there."

She felt better having just made that contact with him, especially when he sent back, "Any time."

Once Violet had dumped her bags in her new (and lonely) flat in Chelsea, she was anxious to get to Baker Street and Sherlock. Mandi took this as nervous tension and immediately enlisted Alice and a male friend of hers to help. They hired a van in the late evening to avoid paparazzi, and once again, Violet felt her life was not in her control again.

VIOLET: [ Coming around with helpers now. ]

SHERLOCK: [ I've put all your things in your sitting room so you don't have to come into mine. ]

"I thought he was going to be away?" Mandi remarked irritably.

"He must have solved the case quickly," Violet replied, in equal but fake irritation.

Violet let them in, feeling apprehensive. How was she going to see Sherlock? They marched upstairs, passing his flat. Both the living room and kitchen doors were closed. Violet felt ill. She had to see him.

Sherlock solved that problem for her.

SHERLOCK: [ Sorry, you still have things in my bathroom. You'll need a box. ]

"I'll just be a minute," Violet said, leaving the others to commence packing.

"I'll get them, Vi," Mandi offered.

"I'll be fine. He doesn't want to see me any more than I want to see him,' she explained, then quickly exited before Mandi could argue the point further.

Violet practically sprinted downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. She tore open the living room door and just about leapt into Sherlock's arms. He held her tightly, breathing her in.

"I'm sorry,' she said, "There was no way Mandi was going to let me come here myself."

"We'll have to be quick then," he replied, grabbing Violet by the hand and leading her toward his bedroom.

"Sherlock! We can't do that!"

"I'm not talking about sex," he said. "You still have to get your things out of my bathroom. I only want to kiss you," he said sadly.

He kissed her, softly at first, until Violet pulled him in for more.

_This is all we get?_ Violet thought. Stolen kisses? A few minutes together, a quick grope downstairs lest they be discovered by Sherlock's arch enemy? This is what they had?

This kiss meant more than any other because it wasn't the kiss of pre-sex. There was no promise of more. This was all it could be, for now. And no telling when the next one would be. It wasn't a goodbye kiss, or a 'I'm glad to be back' kiss of a lover's return. It was 'I love you and I'm desperately clinging to you.'

Sherlock broke off abruptly as he heard what Violet hadn't - the creaking of floorboards in the kitchen.

He took a step back from her. "Violet, please," he said mournfully as if on cue as Mandi walked into the room.

"You forgot to take a box," she said, shooting daggers at Sherlock.

"I'll be downstairs," Sherlock muttered.

Violet's face had hardened in theatrical response while Mandi's attention was still directed at Sherlock - she was glaring at Sherlock's retreating form.

"What did he want?" Mandi hissed.

"Just for me to give up everything and stay with him," Violet said icily, taking the box from Mandi.

"What a fucking loser," Mandi muttered.

Mandi stood in the doorway of the bathroom while Violet grabbed at her cremes and lotions, makeup and hair products, dumping each of them in the box. The funny thing was, she mused, if it were at all possible to see anything amusing in this: these items were all in her bathroom upstairs. Sherlock must have brought them down to his bathroom deliberately, so he'd have an excuse to get her aside. And it was easy for Violet to appear angry with Sherlock - his last attempt at 'winning her back' - when really she was angry with herself for allowing Mandi and Co. to sabotage an opportunity for spending time with Sherlock.

She glanced around the ensuite and then Sherlock's bedroom looking for other items Sherlock may have missed. Then the realisation hit her that she could no longer lie in his bed, teasing him, or stand next to him, brushing their teeth together, or get angry with him for not only leaving the toilet seat up, but leaving a severed finger in a glass of vinegar next to her toothbrush. Such moments were to be treasured.

She sank onto the bed, crying, while Mandi tried to comfort her, saying all the words Violet didn't want to hear, because it was all false. She wasn't crying because her mean old boyfriend wouldn't let her go. She was crying because they were in love and they couldn't be together.

She had agreed to this farce because she had to. But she couldn't see it ending. She was in a bad play and every line she read, and every page she turned didn't get her closer to the end of the script. It just took her further away from Sherlock.

They only had boxes and a couple of suitcases to pack. Violet didn't have any furniture - it came with the rooms. They'd eventually finished loading up the van before Violet turned to look up at the building one last time. Her phone buzzed.

SHERLOCK: [ Don't forget to return your keys. ]

Violet's heart skipped a beat.

"I just have to leave the keys for Mrs Hudson. I'll just be a sec!"

She hurried over to the door and let herself in before Mandi could protest. The door clicked shut, locking the others out. Sherlock came striding out from Mrs Hudson's kitchen and Violet ran into his arms once more.

"It will be all right. We'll work out a way to see each other again," he reassured her.

But Violet couldn't let him go. She couldn't imagine a happy ending.

Sherlock took Violet's face in his hands and kissed her on the lips lightly. "And don't ever forget that I love you."

Violet's heart gave way. "No, Sherlock," she sobbed. "Please don't make me go."

"Violet, don't."

He pulled her into a hug again as the doorbell buzzed.

"You have to go now," he said soothingly. "We'll be together soon."

Panic and fear filled her every pore. She wanted to shut them all out. Forget all this. Let the world fend for themselves. No more films, no more publicity, just anonymity and the two of them. _Just us_. She clung to him.

"Violet."

"No."

He peeled her arms from him. "Go now. Before they knock the door down or call the police on me."

Sherlock took a step back from her. "Keys?" he said impassively, rearranging his features to suit.

Violet straightened up, wiped her face with one hand, then dropped the keys into Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"I love you," she whispered, then turned and walked back to the entrance.

* * *

**_Present day - two days before Christmas_**

Violet dressed and made the bed while Sherlock retrieved his toiletries from the car so he could shave. Violet leant against the bathroom door watching him.

"Mandi heard from Paul lately?" he asked, lathering one cheek with shaving creme.

"I think she tries to call him each day. I'm not sure if she gets through all of the time though. Without the promise of regular sex with her I don't think he'll be able to maintain the facade much longer. I think it's time to introduce her to some of Alex Breville's friends."

Sherlock swished his razor into the sink full of water and continued shaving.

"And how is Mr Breville?"

"Fine."

Sherlock had no hesitation in bringing up the topic that was on both their minds. "Had sex with him yet?"

Violet was momentarily thrown by the casualness with which Sherlock spoke. "If you can call it that."

"How was it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in expectation.

Violet managed a sly smile. "Magical."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Smoke and mirrors, Sherlock," she smirked.

He grinned back at her and began lathering up the other side on his face. Violet remained in the doorway, silently watching him. She didn't want to leave his side.

"So you'll be driving to Manchester tomorrow night?" he asked.

"If the weather gets any worse I think we'll just drive back to Leatherhead and catch the train up."

"The worst roads will be the ones _to_ Leatherhead. Perhaps you and Dan should stay put."

"Where? Spend Christmas Day in this dump?"

"There's a much nicer place closer to Cobham. It'll cost you an arm and a leg though."

"We have two pairs between us. Why did you choose this place for our little rendezvous?"

"It was the site of a particularly vicious triple murder six years ago. Don't you remember hearing about it?"

"Six years ago? I was probably stoned on something at uni. Very anti-social."

Sherlock looked at her with disdain.

"Well, their custom never quite recovered," he continued. "It's a good thing they own it out right or there would be no point in doing business anymore. They're lucky to get any guests as it is. They ask no questions and pretend they don't see anything. It's the perfect antidote for idle tongues."

"Charming. Triple murder you say?"

Sherlock smirked. "There was no mystery surrounding it. I watched the case unfold from a comfortable sofa in Montague Street, just around the corner from the British museum. I was probably coming down from a cocaine high myself."

"Sherlock, really?"

"Cases were few and far between in those days."

Sherlock let the water run out of the sink and patted his face dry with the supplied hotel hand towel. He splashed on his aftershave and then turned to Violet for approval.

She grinned, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. She nuzzled his neck, breathing in deeply and sighing with satisfaction.

"I'd have you again if we didn't have to leave right now."

"Plenty of time for that," he said, tapping her back twice as a signal to cease and desist. "Now," he said, walking out of the bathroom and grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. "Are you ready to meet my parents?"

* * *

**A/N:** I think I may make the next twenty three and a half hours go sooo slow-ly. Who's with me?

Please review! Would love to know your thoughts!


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